The Wayward Weasley
by clumsy.carrie
Summary: At fifteen,Rose Weasley imploded; five years later,things have deteriorated to the point where she's closest with Scorpius Malfoy,Celia Goyle,and Théo Zabini. 2 worlds, 2 sets of morals, 2 houses. Rose can't live in the middle forever. FULL SUMMARY INSIDE- DISCONTINUED BRIEFLY
1. Hot Mess

SUMMARY:

At fifteen, Rose Weasley imploded, taking down her best friend and her cousins in as long as it took to write a letter to Rita Skeeter. Five years later, Rose is still living with the consequences; that is, she can barely get Albus Potter or his girlfriend Molly Gale to talk to her, and her circle of friends consists of a group that the tabloids call _The Heirs Apparent_-among them, Celia Goyle, Théo Zabini and Scorpius Malfoy. Her parents disapprove but say little of it; the rest of her family demands weekly what she is thinking. All the while, her relationships with the kids she was forbidden from during school-Goyle, Zabini, Malfoy, all names that targeted her parents during the war-grow. Rose knows she can't live between these two worlds forever, and, eventually, she has to make the choice that most children have decided for them at age eleven: Gryffindor, or Slytherin?

A/N: Hey you lot,

So this is short, and I apologize for that, but I like this format of just a little piece as sort of the introduction. Also, from this point on, it'll be in Rose's POV unless otherwise specified. The dress Rose is wearing is on my profile if you're the kind of fashion-inclined person who wants to go look at it.

Happy reading!  
>Carrie<p>

* * *

><p><span>Hot Mess<span>

_If you're dancing up on tables  
><em>_You go you go, you got it girl  
><em>_Say that you're unstable  
><em>_You go, you go, you got it girl  
><em>_Dancing up on tables  
><em>_Say that you're unstable  
><em>_You're a ha-ha ha-ha ha yeah you're a hot mess._

-_Cobra Starship_

This was not the way that Scorpius Malfoy planned on spending his night.

At a club, sure. With Théo Zabini whining as he followed him across the floor, Théo's Ferragamo shoes scraping against the floor with all the carelessness of someone who didn't pay for them, sure. His eyes on a girl on the bar—_on_ the bar, by the way, not _at_ the bar—in a dress that probably cost more than her flat and covered a _whole lot less_, sure. After all, the girl was his type—gorgeous, more than a little drunk, her already-short dress riding up her mile-long legs. She was unsteady in three-inch heels, the hand not holding some disgusting-looking silver-colored drink pressed to the hem of her skirt, keeping it down. She was the exact definition of hot mess. And Scorpius's job was to get this girl off the bar and home, tucked safe, and alone, into her bed.

_Damn, Malfoy_. He thought to himself as he came to a stop at the girl's feet, staring up at her, holding a hand out as if she were a lady and he were a gentleman. There was too much irony there for poor little Scorpius's brain to handle. Because as much as this girl was no lady, he was absolutely no gentleman.

_You always get sucked into the worst jobs_. The girl above him didn't even look down at him. "Get down." Scorpius said flatly, hoping that this direct approach would work; she did not hear him, or pretended not to, and he looked away, running the hand he'd extended up to her over his hair. He did not like this. But he still turned back to her, a moment later.

She pulled him back to her, every time.

Scorpius looked up at her tiredly, focusing away from where he could see up her dress. That was not the point of this exercise in self-restraint. In fact, that was exactly the opposite of this exercise. The entire point of this was Scorpius and Rose rescued each other and didn't sleep together because the value of this system was too high.

"_Babe!_" Scorpius shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. The girl looked down at him, and Scorpius raised an eyebrow at the girl who was standing above him in a gold dress that should have been illegal. Short, one-shouldered. It made Scorpius's head hurt, or spin, maybe; he'd had a couple drinks, too. _Not as many as her. _He thought defensively. "Love, I gotta get you down from there—" Scorpius said easily, and the girl raised her drink high above his head, toasting the room; a cheer went up, and Scorpius ducked his head for a moment. This girl made him tired, because if she wasn't _her_, then Scorpius would be among those who shouted when she toasted the room. She was the only girl he goaded off the bar; he was the only boy she paid the bartender to stop serving, after one AM.

"Scorp, baby." The girl on the bar slurred, and Scorpius winced, looking up to her. "You are just _too _funny."

"Yeah, hilarious." Théo muttered beside Scorpius, looking at him pointedly; Scorpius turned to look at his frenemy. "Can we leave?" The other boy asked irritatedly.

"Shut up." Scorpius muttered to Théo, looking back up the girl on the bar. "Babe, come on." He said, and she straightened up, then slipped; falling onto the bar, and Scorpius half caught her, his eyes dark as he kept an arm around her, his other hand rising to her face, pushing her hair back to look at her. "You alright?" He murmured; she nodded, her eyes hooded, frowning at him.

"I wanna stay." She said childishly; Scorpius exhaled, looking to Théo for help; his friend raised an eyebrow, and Scorpius looked back to the girl. "And don't call me love, Love." She laughed at her own joke, her head falling slightly to the side, her blue eyes sparkling. Scorpius smiled too; drunk was funny, on her. He refused to consider the fact that this was fourth night this week she'd been drunk off her ass; he had had five nights of his own, last week, too, so he supposed he shouldn't judge.

"_Flower_," The endearment was sarcastic, because they weren't dating; he wasn't even sure they were friends. He just…did this, sometimes, and sometimes she did it for him. They were the same person, he liked the think—the disappointing children. He and this girl had talked about it at Hogwarts once, slightly tipsy after their sixth-year Holiday Ball. But now he and she didn't talk about anything. He just picked her up at bars and she picked him up the morning after some girl had made his night. "We have to leave lest one of the dashing young men in here realize I've not got a chance with you and come to claim their new one-night stand—"

"We couldn't _date, _Scorpius!" The girl said, grinning at him now, but her eyes were still hooded, and she was fading, fast. Scorpius counted his blessings that he hadn't managed to get there an hour earlier, when the girl on the bar was still speeding through drinks and boys at a rate that would make even his head spin.

Okay, well, maybe not. But he liked to imagine himself better than this girl. That was the entire way they were _them_; each of them pulling the other up, each time assuring themselves that they were better than the other because they weren't the one falling that night.

"Besides," she continued, her voice dropping to that purr that Scorpius so detested; this girl knew what she did with him, and did it anyway. He did the same thing back, he remembered, as he stepped forward, between her legs, and she tilted her head to look up at his face. "Remember? I'm a danger with my tongue," the girl licked her lips and Scorpius heard Théo, beside him, bite out a disbelieving laugh. "My wand," she grinned, pulling the long wand from her purse and twilrling it delicately between her long fingers; she moved forward an inch, "And my heart." She whispered the last word, a secret as she leaned too close to Scorpius. Scorpius let her come this close. This girl was heartless, and she knew it. Scorpius sighed, pushing her hair back from her face again.

"Time to go." Scorpius insisted quietly, and the girl sighed, putting her drink down on the bar and sinking against him; Scorpius hesitated, then slipped an arm under her shoulders and back. He lifted her, and her arms slipped around his neck, her head falling onto his shoulder as her tired, inebriated lids drifted shut.

And Scorpius Malfoy carried Rose Weasley out of the club.


	2. Girls Do What They Want

Girls do What They Want

_She makes the boys feel so weak (so weak)  
><em>_It's all for her, or none at all; she'll pick you up just to watch you fall  
><em>_It's her hands on my hips, I can't escape 'em  
><em>_It's that mouth and those lips, try not to taste 'em  
><em>_Girls do what they want…  
><em>_Boys do what they can  
><em>-The Maine

I cannot tell you how many times I have awoken in a bed that is not my own.

Usually, it sets off a flurry of panic—holy-shit-where-am-I panic—that results in me retrieving my wand and my clutch and carrying my three-inch high heels as I creep from the apartment of wherever-the-hell-I-am. That's the last bit of the instinct ingrained in me from birth; I'm Rose Weasley. My parents raised me on the assumption that not only are there bad people out there—and lots of them—they were very aware of my auror parents and my existence and they want to hurt us. To say that security in my family is jacked up would win you understatement of the year.

But once I calm down, I am forced to admit to myself that the bed of hapless-one-night-stand is very comfortable. And his sheets are usually washed and the lamp on his dresser didn't burn out three years ago (oh, nope, that's _my _lamp) and I have only committed a few sins in this unknown bed. And it's comfortable not because of the thread-count, but because this bed doesn't know me.

My bed _knows_ me.

My bed has born witness to every sin I've committed. I go home with the guys I don't know—it's only the ones I _do _know that I bring home. The ones I'm not drunk when I'm with them, the ones whose names I know as well as my own. The ones who I _enter_ the bar with; they're the real danger. Because I can send home nameless boy, and I can sneak out of the bedroom of Mr. Blond-Hair-Blue-Eyes. But I will keep seeing some boys day after day, and I can't sleep with them.

That is why waking up in Scorpius Malfoy's bed, two days after dropping off my little cousin at the Hogwarts Express was a problem.

"Oh, look, Weasley's in your bed again." Celia Goyle's dry voice woke me, and I opened my eyes to squint at the girl in the doorway. I know this room—it is Scorpius Malfoy's room. And I debated with myself for a moment before deciding that the feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with having slept with Scorpius, because we hadn't slept together, because I still had my shoes on and even I would take my shoes off. Especially these shoes. And my dress and underwear would also probably be gone and both were securely on.

Whew.

With that panic behind me, I realized that my head was fucking pounding—I was hung-over. My mouth felt fuzzy and it took more energy than I possessed to roll my head away from the obnoxious girl in the doorway. Instead, I inched the pillow back until it flipped over onto my face. Ah, sweet darkness.

"Oh, look, the Grinch is in your doorway again." I mumbled into the pillow. I hadn't actually seen Scorpius but I assumed that he was somewhere in the room if Celia had addressed him.

"No one understands your obscure muggle references, Weasel." Celia retorted, smugness staining her voice, and I just laid under the pillow comfortably. If I hadn't thought my whole face would explode, I would have rolled my eyes. But that would have done it. I was so rarely hung-over that when I drank enough to deal that blow to my system, I felt liked I'd quite literally been hit by a truck. "I can't believe you let freckle-face over here sleep in your bed." Celia's nickname for me was nothing new. There were a dozen more, nearly all of them more offensive. "She'll dirty your nice sheets."

"My sheets are quite dirty already." Scorpius murmured, his voice heavy with suggestion, and I inhaled the sweet scent of his very clean sheets. Scorpius's room was always pristine; his clothes never touched the floor. It was a theme with Scorpius; his room had a beautiful bed with sheets with a thread count that topped the dollar number on the monthly rent in most apartments. He had a dresser that was some sort of antique shit that his parents had shoved in when he'd moved out (the first Malfoy to move out in generations, apparently). And there wasn't a single photo up or a single personal item in the room.

I'd have mocked him for being so fucked up if that wouldn't have been a distinct "pot calling the kettle black" situation.

Instead, I just chuckled. "Don't lie, Scorp. I know you can't have gotten any in the last week, at least." My words were muffled by the pillow on my face, but Celia must have heard because she snickered. "Because I've been here the last three nights and—"

"If you keep divulging my secrets, Weasley, I will not keep picking you up at clubs." Scorpius threatened, and I shifted my head slightly, so I could peek out with one eye from beneath the pillow; as it was, it felt like the light in the room burned my retina as I stared accusingly at Scorpius. "Or would you rather be waking up Bryan Patou's bed this morning—"

"I scared off Anne Ligelaar like a week ago so it's not like this isn't mutual." I mumbled, my eye watering; when had Scorpius's lights gotten so damned bright? _More like when had my blood alcohol level reached such astronomical heights? _Regardless, my voice was too muffled by the pillow, this time, because Scorpius leaned his head around the doorjam in his bathroom, hanging from it with two fingers as he used his other hand to hold his toothbrush in his mouth as he frowned incomprehendingly at my one visible eye. I growled and removed my pillow from my face, squinting my eyes shut as I did; ow, ow, ow. "Fuck you." I summarized, before I dropped the pillow back on my face, and Celia sighed.

"Eloquent, Weasel." Celia drawled.

"At least I have my looks, Goyle, some girls don't even have _that_." I said happily back, the implication clear. Celia made an unhappy noise but I knew the words hadn't stung as much as I'd wanted them to; I wasn't so witty when I felt like my skull was stuffed with cotton.

"Scorpius, why do you allow the Scarlet Woman into your bed?" Celia demanded.

"Scorpius, why do you allow Troll Girl into your house?" I called back.

"Are either of you actually talking to me?" Scorpius's voice floated out, slightly muffled, and I turned my head under the pillow, pushing it up slightly with an unhappy face. Scorpius was behind his half-closed bathroom door, but he opened it as I lifted the pillow; he was in his boxers, only, and I frowned at him. Scorpius wasn't unattractive—aside from his meticulously-combed-back blond hair and gray eyes, he had gorgeous abs. I was actually beginning to think he was actually _handsome _when ever-dependable old Scorpius glanced at me, pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth, and smirked. "Enjoying the view?"

I allowed the corners of my mouth to turn upwards suggestively; even half-asleep, I knew I could play games with Scorpius and everyone else with testosterone. What was wrong with me? Still, I pushed myself onto my elbows, my dress, still from last night, draped suggestively over my flat stomach, "in fact, I am." I leaned my head back and to the side slightly. "Lose the boxers and we might have ourselves a deal."

Scorpius chuckled lowly, turning back to the mirror, and I flopped back against the bed, covering my eyes with my arm. My head still felt like someone was inside it with a hammer. "Weasley, you better be careful." Scorpius said after a moment, laughter clear in his voice; I lifted my arm slightly to peer at him. "You'd hate to give a guy the wrong idea." Scorpius shifted as he said it, making a face at himself in the mirror. I chuckled, then closed my eyes against my arm, again; I was probably getting mascara on my arm. Lord knows I'd applied it heavily enough last night to still have it on.

Last night. I kept my facial expression carefully blank—Celia and Scorpius could certainly see me even if I couldn't see them—and contemplated the lost night, the latest in a line of them. What had happened? Clearly Scorpius had come and gotten me—there was no other reason for me to be in his bed. Had I called him? I didn't think so. How had he found out? Maybe someone else called him? I tried to remember who I'd gone out with last night, but that seemed hazy. Had I pregamed before I'd gone out? That would be a little but of overkill, right?

That said, I wasn't exactly known for temperance.

"I _love_ giving a guy the wrong idea." I murmured, lifting my arm from my face again to grin at Scorpius. He just shook his head while Celia Goyle, in the doorway, exhaled shortly, crossing the room. She flopped down on the other side of Scorpius's bed, lifting her legs and crossing them as she sat, propped back against the pillows.

"So much sexual innuendo so early." Celia muttered as she leaned her head back against the bed board. "Scorpius, I'm hungry." Celia said aloud. "Do you have any food in your house?" Scorpius exhaled.

"Get out of my bed." Scorpius called back, and I glanced at him as he smeared shaving cream across his jawline. He turned back to me, half a Father Christmas beard on, and I laughed softly, my head rolling back to look up at the ceiling.

"I want food too." I told him.

"Celia, what are you even doing here? And Rose, I carried you out of a club last night, which I'm sure, by the way, hit the _Conjurer's Chronicle_ this morning," he paused, letting that sink in. "So I don't owe you anything. Much less breakfast." I sighed dramatically, flopping back against the bed.

"But breakfast is delicious." I mumbled.

"You'd throw up anyway." Scorpius retorted; I leaned up in time to see shaving cream slide onto his neck, and he frowned, reaching up to swipe at it with a washcloth. How Scorpius for him to have washcloths with his initials embroidered but no photos. Merlin. "And if you throw up in my apartment, I will be demanding new furniture and perhaps a new place of residence." He continued, seriously. I laughed properly, now, and I saw Celia shoot me an unhappy look.

"Love, if there's anything I _can_ do," I reminded him with a smile as I pushed myself up, ignoring my roiling stomach and spinning head. I felt like I might throw up. "It's hold my alcohol." My lips turned coyly at Scorpius as I slid my legs off the bed carefully, my high-heeled feet touching the ground easily. I ignored the cramping in my foot as I pushed myself off the bed, the spinning in my head tripling. I stepped carefully around the bed, reaching up to pull my hair back from my face; I dragged my fingers against the back of my neck, capturing all my hair as I pulled it back from my face and rounded the bed, approaching Scorpius. I wrapped my hair tie, still on my wrist, around it as I slipped into the bathroom doorway. My arm slipped around Scorpius's neck as I slipped between him and the sink, and I pressed my other hand to his bare chest, my fingers grazing down from his pecs, until my fingers brushed the tops of his abs, the down his stomach—his hand snapped forward to catch my hand, pulling it away before I reached the elastic of his boxers.

"What're you doing, Weasley?" Scorpius murmured to me, and I stared at him, the corners of my mouth still turned upwards. He stared at me for a moment before he exhaled harshly, and I couldn't help it, the humor wrapping around my lungs until I could barely breathe; I laughed, my arm slipping from his neck to press to my mouth, laughter spilling out. Scorpius shook his head.

"You've gotten so damned gullible!" I exclaimed, grinning. "Back to the point though, Scorp—I really am hungry." I grinned, knowing the effect it had on Scorpius, on everyone with testosterone. My smile was dangerous. "So be a gentleman and make a lady pancakes, won't you?" I leaned back against the sink, still grinning. Even the morning after, I could get a guy to do whatever I wanted.

"God, what is the world coming to?" Celia grumbled from her spot on the bed; I glanced at her. Celia was not a fan of the smile or my manipulating every boy within ten miles of me. She was also a friend of Molly Gale, which automatically made her not such a fan.

Molly Gale had been my best friend at Hogwarts, until our fifth year. And then I'd screwed up. Molly had, at the beginning of our fifth year, began dating this boy Rory Corner, who was a year older than us and a Gryffindor. I'd sort of set my sights on him as my next boyfriend. So when he mentioned Molly to me, I'd mentioned to him that Molly—who had recently been kicked out of her house, to make matters worse—had spent the latter half of the summer flirting with my cousin, Albus Potter. But Rory and Molly began dating anyway, and I kept mentioning Albus and Molly to Rory, whenever we were without Molly.

I swear to this day that it just slowly evolved into what it became: my eventual convincing Rory that Molly was cheating on him with Albus. It had just started off as a everyone-for-themselves-with-the-hot-boy thing. And then it became a can't-believe-Rory-doesn't-like-me thing, because I was Rose Weasley and I knew I was gorgeous and I knew that boys looked at me in the halls. And somehow, from there, I let it go too far, because before I knew it, Rory and Molly were screaming at each other in the Common Room and then they were done. And while Albus was pleased as punch—he really had been flirting with Molly—Molly was heartbroken. Her family was falling apart—her dad was a bastard who ended up in Azkaban for the damage done to Molly and her siblings—and now she couldn't keep a boy around. I felt a little guilty, though—and then Molly told me she thought Rory was an asshole, and, guilt making me defend Rory, I'd gotten (screwy as it sounds) mad Molly. She'd gotten _Rory_—handsome, smart Rory—and was now calling him an asshole? So I wrote a letter. The first one was short, basics, to a reporter. I wrote that Molly was dating Albus Potter already, and told the repoter about how Molly's dad had kicked her out (with her little brother) and Molly was just using Albus and Albus's (and soon Molly's) best friend Fred Weasley for fame and money; I told her that my parents didn't want to take care of Molly (because they didn't). It was all true; that was the problem. Suddenly Molly, private Molly, was a tabloid figure. I eventually wrote more letters, and when more came out in the papers, Molly assumed the person telling the papers was Celia. Not long after that, Celia found a letter and gave it to Molly, and the truth came out. I was the leak.

Shit hit the fan. Molly was done with me; Albus was done with me; Fred was done with me. My own parents weren't even sure what to do so we went down to my mum's parents' in Australia that break, to hide form the press and regroup. It was too late, though. The papers ran the Rose-was-the-leak story and suddenly that was all I was. Rose Weasley, traitor.

Ironic, considering my parents.

That was years ago; now, four years later, things had calmed down, mostly. Molly and Albus—now dating, since after the whole Rory thing calmed down, our fifth year—talked to me at the dinner table at Christmas but that was about it; Celia had even less patience for me. Celia was willing to get caught for things she'd done; going down for things she _hadn't_ done, however, was not something she was willing to. She didn't really hate me, she just disliked me. I knew she tolerated me because Scorpius had told her to. But I was beginning to wonder if that would always be enough. Especially as Celia continued.

"Bloodtraitor bossing around a _Malfoy_—" Celia growled.

"Oy." I said, frowning at her. She just rolled her eyes, and I felt a flush on my face. _Bloodtraitor_. The word made me nervous; not because of the meaning, because I just didn't care about that. I wasn't a bloodtraitor; I was, however, a traitor. Celia knew that; she knew what I would take from the word. She just said it anyway.

Stupid Celia.

The word had another problem as well. It was, unhappily, a reminder of everything that stood as a difference between Celia and me. Because even as drank enough to keep pace with Scorpius on his worst nights and I had had more boys pass through my bed than Celia had her entire seventh year, I was not a pureblood Slytherin like these kids. I was the daughter of the mudblood—the famous one!—and the bloodtraitor. Worse yet, I was a Gryffindor, even if I didn't belong there. And the worst problem by far? The thing that really derailed conversations, made us blush and turn away, get another drink when we'd already had too many? I had won the last Wizarding War.

They had lost.

It was the difference that defined us. Scorpius's aunt Bellatrix had killed my uncle Harry's godfather and my uncle Fred; my grandmother had killed Bellatrix. Scorpius's grandfather went to Azkaban two days after the Battle at Hogwarts and died there, four months later; both of Celia's parents had also gone, and survived their two-year stays there, but still. My uncle aided the Ministry in their cases. Our parents were still livid about every wrong, every death—understandably. But Scorpius, Celia and I were not of the War generation. We were the first generation in many years without Voldemort. Voldemort was dead, really. Everyone got to relax, now. But my parents, my family, Scorpius's and Celia's—they hadn't relaxed. They just continued to hate, quietly, under their breath, faces away from the cameras. Morality, right and wrong—those things didn't matter, anymore. All that mattered was that Dad's brother had died; Mum had had _mudblood_ carved into her arm. And the Malfoy family was to blame.

Needless to say, Scorpius Malfoy was not considered good company for Rose Weasley.

"Does your mother know you speak that way?" Scorpius demanded.

"She encourages it." Celia retorted.

"Will someone be making breakfast?" I demanded, straightening up to put my hands on my hips. Scorpius and Celia looked to me and I smiled big, tilting my head to one side. "Pretty please?"

"If you can find it, you can eat it." Scorpius muttered, raising his eyebrows. "Good luck." I snapped to attention, saluting him, before I turned away and slipped back into his bedroom. Celia pushed herself to her feet, following me out into the rest of his apartment. Two steps into his living room, though, I paused. A boy with messy brown hair was sprawled on Scorpius's couch. It took a moment of me staring at him for my brain to turn on enough to recognize him; Théo Zabini. I had a flash of last night—Théo looking up at me, his eyebrows raised in that appraising way that he did, sometimes. He was still dressed, like me, but his shoes were beside him, and he had a blanket on him; I'd just passed out on the bed.

Scorpius had put more work into taking care of Théo than me.

It didn't surprise me—Théo and Scorpius had run together since kids, even if Théo had gone to Beauxbatons. They went everywhere together. And if Théo was in London, then Scorpius's house was the only place I'd think for him to stay.

"Is this why you're here?" I asked Celia in a whisper. She frowned at me, and then shook her head.

"I don't bother with him." Celia muttered. I exhaled. Celia didn't bother with him because Théo was the illegitimate son of her dad's best friend, and largely ignored by his dad and step-mom and half-siblings. Where Scorpius had grown up with Théo, Celia had grown up with Erik and Leona Zabini.

"What are we supposed to do?" I demanded, shifting uncertainly from foot to foot; they still hurt a lot, and now that I'd been standing for a few minutes, my head was starting to pound again.

"I'm leaving—I didn't even notice he was here—" Celia muttered.

"Wait, if you're not here for Théo, why are you here—" I mumbled, looking to Celia; she frowned at me.

"I could ask you the same question, there, Weasel." She hissed.

"Now now." I muttered, raising my eyebrows. "I'm being perfectly friendly. Play nice." I paused, my gaze dragging back down to Théo. He didn't fit on the couch—he was more than six feet tall, maybe six four? He would have been attractive, if he wasn't so damned angry all the time. Also his accent reminded me of my cousin's. And that freaked me out too much for me to hook up with him. "But seriously." I said, looking back up at her. "What're you doing here?"

Celia frowned at me for a moment before she raised her eyebrows in a challenge, smiling a little, and I felt nervousness wrap around my stomach and lungs.

"How about you mind your own business, and I don't let slip to your cousin that you wake up in Malfoy's bed more frequently then you wake up in your own?" Celia murmured; I felt a hot blush climb up my face, coloring my cheeks. Stupid Celia.

"Sounds magical." I muttered. My family knew I sometimes met up with Scorpius and Celia. They absolutely did not know that we were _friends_—and we were—and they _did not know_ that I ever woke up in his bed, even if that phrase sounded worse than it was. And my dad would be pissed. He'd told me, first year, on Platform 9 ¾ not to become friendly with Scorpius.

I think I have an issue with rules.

"I'm interested in why you wake up in Malfoy's bed, _ma biche_." Théo's voice startled me; I glanced down at him as he opened his eyes groggily. "Oh là là." He said dryly, pushing himself up tiredly. "If it isn't Weasley and _la diablesse_." I laughed, favoring Théo with a grin. My little knowledge of French—gained from my cousins, who spoke French—gave me that word. _La diablesse _meant she-devil.

"I'm sure that's rude, but since I don't bother talking to half-bloods—" Celia murmured, looking down at her perfectly manicured nails.

"Classy." Théo murmured.

"I try." Celia retorted, frowning at him.

"I'm still hungry." I muttered, pouting at them for a moment before I crossed between the two glaring people, towards the door to Scorpius's kitchen. I went through it, letting it swing shut behind me as I approached his shiny silver fridge. His kitchen was spotless; I knew before I opened the door there wouldn't be any food inside. True to the fact, there were only a few beers and a questionable-looking jar of salsa. "Ugh." I muttered to myself. I exhaled then turned, looking around the kitchen, my hand lingering on the door; no photos, nothing on the countertops.

I opened the drawer to the right of the refrigerator, where he had an empty silverware holder. Did he _own _things? I opened the next drawer over: nothing. Next, next, next, same, same, same. I felt uneasy, suddenly; was I supposed to eb going through Scorpius's things? Probably not. I wouldn't have been super comfortable with him going through my things like this, certainly. _But he would find more in my apartment_. I assured myself. I wasn't as screwed up as Scorpius, not as detached from everything; I had silverware, at least. And milk in my fridge, and a tea pot that hummed a little tune when it was done, that my grandmother had given me. I bit my lip, closing the drawer slowly and staring down at the countertop. Did I have any photos up? I didn't remember, suddenly, even though my apartment was only a few rooms and I'd decorated the whole thing myself.

I frowned as I turned away from the counter, leaning back against it for a moment. I was bad at this whole boundaries thing with Scorpius. We weren't friends, we weren't dating, but I slept in his bed as easily as I slept in mine, more, maybe. Was I allowed to judge the state of his kitchen?

The door swung open, suddenly, and I jumped away from the countertop, guilt coloring my features. Scorpius stood in the doorway, smiling lazily at me as he leaned against the doorjamb again; he was always doing that. He was still shirtless, too, and my eyes drifted to his abs as I realized he was at least sporting pants, now. Progress. Or perhaps not, it depended which direction you were hoping for.

"Find anything?" He asked, and I could tell from the uncomfortable way his eyes were too focused on me that he knew I hadn't. He'd known there was nothing in his fridge. But he didn't want to admit that.

And I knew all about not wanting to confess things, so I let him have that.

"I didn't get a chance, because I realized I kind of want to take my brother out to lunch." I said easily, smiling at Scorpius, adding a little of the flirty eyes thing I did sometimes. I wanted to distract him from the emptiness of his fridge, his apartment. I wasn't sure why, and I didn't let myself think much of it.

"Really?" Scorpius asked. "Hugo's not still at Hogwarts, is he?" My eyebrows shot up as surprise turned my smile from coy to kind; he knew my brother's name?

"Graduated in June with Lily Potter." I said, grinning. "More little Weasleys running about." I grinned. "Must be music to your dad's ears."

"Oh, it is." Scorpius laughed. "Loving your family. That's what _my _dad is known for…." We laughed for a moment, because it wasn't funny but there wasn't anything else to do. It wasn't like we could do anything else.

"Anyway, since I'm a good big sister, I'm going to go kidnap my little brother from his very serious job—he works at the Ministry now!—and take him out to lunch." I grinned at Scorpius; I was bullshitting, talking fast because I felt a little guilty for having discovered the Scorpius barely lived in this kitchen, but now that I'd actually said the plan aloud, it sounded good. Besides, Hugo worked too hard. And what kind of sister was I if I didn't try stop that?

"What department?" He asked. I hesitated.

"Department of Magical Transportation." I admitted sheepishly. Scorpius snorted.

"Great job." He muttered sarcastically.

"He's working his way out of it, I promise." I told Scorpius, laughing a little. "But since I have to shower and change and guzzle a hangover potion, I'll see you tonight?" I grinned, injecting humor into my words even though they weren't funny. The most you could say for the words was that they were half-sarcastic, but even that was only half. Because the fact was, half the time, I was dragging Scorpius out of some bathroom stall where a girl was straightening her dress or Scorpius was carrying me out of some club. It was bad, we knew.

"Alrighty." Scorpius said airily. "At least the flighty Rose Weasley bade me _adieu _before she walked out of my apartment—" I laughed, reaching up as I did to slip my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. As I pulled back, I brushed my lips against his cheek, laughing as Théo said something dirty-sounding in French in the living room behind Scorpius and Celia groaned. A girl in a dress from the night before hugging a boy with no shirt on; we sent the wrong message. But I didn't care. Or maybe I did, and I just liked to mess with people. I had no idea, anymore, why I did the things I did.

I grinned at Scorpius, trailing my fingers down his chest once more before I stepped back and wiggled my fingers in a wave goodbye; I could hear him curse at me under his breath even as the crush of colors and sounds around me marked my disapparation. I spun around and around, dragging my arms against my sides before I landed, hard, in my apartment, almost stumbling off my high heels. And then I was in the relative silence, relative monotony, of my own apartment. I looked around, the smile I'd left Scorpius with fading off my face quietly as I eyed the disaster area; empty cans of sodas and messy plates from dinners long since done littered my coffee table. My couch cushions were in an inexplicable state of disarray. It was, the best I could say, a bit cozier that Scorpius's apartment. Then I remembered; photos? Did I have any? I looked around, my stomach twisting as I looked from my blank walls to the lack of shelves, the front table with nothing but an array of purses and mascara and a few business cards.

No photos here, either.

I chewed on my lip for a moment before I sank onto my couch tiredly, running a hand through my hair as I eyed the messy room around me. In the silence, all I could hear was the pounding in my head I'd drowned out with Celia and Scorpius and Théo. Gently, I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes as I inhaled deeply. Eyes closed, now, and alone with my thoughts, I felt a stab of unhappy realization.

Scorpius and I were the same person.

Gross.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: This is a wee bit late, my apologies, but at least I'm getting there in length. Thank you lovelies for the ten reviews for so few words: **Molivline, Rivvy, KaitlynEmmaRose, Fleetingfish, Diane Potter, Firemaker, Vans321, hushpuppy22, Serendipity10, Allen Pitt** (You are a remarkably fast/thorough reviewer!)

I really appreciate all the feedback on this story especially because this is inherently different than my other stories; Sera was a simpler character because she was eleven, and there was a lot of myself in Molly (though my parents are lovely, law-abiding people, unlike Molly's). Rose's is less similar to me/simple. So tell me if I'm not pulling it off :)

Thanks!


	3. Something Bigger, Something Better

Something Bigger, Something Better

_My ladies who got their own cash  
><em>_Know how to swing their hips fast  
><em>_Back and forth to the beat  
><em>_Don't sleep girl  
><em>_Show them how you work that ass.  
><em>_-Amanda Blank_

"Rosie," my cousin Albus drawled two days later, a copy of _Conjurer's Chronicle _in his hand; I winced even as he turned it to hold out to me, displaying the sin I had committed. "Why, praytell, are you being carried out of a club by _Malfoy_?"

I exhaled, letting a fake smile curl on my lips; no one would ever notice it was fake, because it'd been that long since I'd shown them a real one. "Thought I'd see how fast I could give my dad a heart attack." I said, grinning at my cousin. Albus rolled his eyes, looking back down at the photo.

It was the perfect paparazzi shot; I was basically unconscious in Scorpius's arms, my head turned into his chest, my arms around his neck. Théo was trailing behind Scorpius, looking a little bored, and Scorpius was saying something to him. You'd think a guy carrying a girl out of a club would look a little knight-in-shining-armor.

No such luck.

"Have any of the adults seen this…?" Albus asked, raising his eyebrows as he looked at the photo; he wasn't talking about adults in general, just _our_ adults. My parents, Al's parents, any of the first generation Weasleys, really. But I was protected by the general ban on tabloids. When my parents and Al's parents had been younger, they'd made excellent tabloid fodder. But now they were less interested in our aging parents and more interested in Albus and me.

I sighed, glancing at Albus's girlfriend Molly, who was sitting across from me, sipping on a butter beer. It was just the three of us tonight; I didn't really get along with Fred Weasley, Al's and my cousin and Molly's best friend, and Hugo was just out of Hogwarts and thus still too young to be included in our little meetings. And Al and I had been close, as kids. "Like Mum or Dad would spend a glance on a tabloid."

"That and we'd have heard of it by now if your parents had figured out the whole Rose sleeps around thing by now." Molly murmured, raising her eyebrows, and I glanced at her, the smile still in place. Molly was just a little mean, a trait that she'd gotten after years of her father's terrible behavior. And while it had definitely softened in the five years he'd been in jail, she still had a sharp tongue.

Molly seemed to realize what she'd said was mean because she put down her drink and leaned forward, a pained expression bleeding onto her face. "Rose—"

I laughed a little. "It's true." I told her ruefully, grabbing Albus's beer and taking a sip; he let me, still eying the picture on the front of the magazine. "Al, there isn't anything much interesting about the photo—I'm unconscious, Scorp's hair is a little messy but that's probably my fault since the boy carries a damned comb everywhere, and Théo's just bored." Albus glanced up at me.

"You know Théo Zabini?" He asked.

"Don't you know me by now, Potter?" I asked, grinning as I tilted my head to the side, his beer still in my hand. "I know _everyone_." Albus rolled his eyes, dropping the magazine back on the table as his hand reached out and grabbed his beer from my hand.

"Rose, why do you slum with these kids?" Albus demanded skeptically, his eyebrows drawing together. I exhaled. "Scorpius is an asshole, Théo's a dickhead—"

"Dear lord, Albus, tell me how you really feel." I drawled. Albus rolled his eyes, looking to Molly for support; my cousin's girlfriend just stared at him, and Albus exhaled shortly, turning back to me. I laughed; Molly may not have liked me much, but she wouldn't side with Albus just for the heck of it. "They're nice kids, Al." I said, feeling brave, now.

"So you're just going to screw around with the kids of the guys who wanted to kill our parents?" Albus demanded irritatedly. I felt my stomach twist as I blinked at Albus; he was being unnecessarily rude about this.

"Oy, Potter!" Someone called across the bar, and I looked up as Albus and Molly did; even though Al was the only Potter at the table, the three of us had been together since first year, when we were eleven. "What are you _doing_—" A group of boys stopped in front of our table, and I eyed them before recognizing a few of them; this was at least part of the Tutshill Tornadoes team. It was only four boys, but they were all tall and well-built, like the quidditch players they were. I was sure I'd met at least one or two of them before; quidditch players were always big at clubs and parties.

Nothing says time to party like young, fit, and overpaid.

"I have asked you half a dozen times to introduce me to your cousin and you keep denying me this vision of loveliness—" A boy who appeared to be the leader—or was at least the loudest—of the group said. He was grinning at me even as his words were for Albus, so I did the only polite thing, pushing myself up and grinning at him. He held out a hand. "Jeremy Braddock." He introduced himself. "I play for the Tornadoes with Albus, I'm a Keeper."

I laughed at the pun. "You most certainly are." I said with my glittery smile, letting my gaze drag up his form before I met his bright blue gaze. Jeremy's light brown hair was a mess but in that careless-but-on-purpose way. "I'm Rose Weasley, but it seems you already know that." I leaned my head to the side, looking to my cousin. "Al, you didn't _tell _me you worked with such..." I let my eyes slide up to and over the boys again, this time taking in all of them; Jeremy was not the only attractive one among them, "_friendly _boys."

"See now, this is why I don't introduce you to people." Albus said, rolling his eyes. "Because friendly to you means something else entirely to everyone else." I laughed again.

"But my definition is so much more fun!" I said, the corners of my mouth turning up just a little bit, my eyes filled with laughter. Albus took a swig of his beer, tilting his head back tiredly as he did; I looked back to Jeremy, remaining silent for half a moment while he held my gaze. The original plan had been to just go home, but now eying these fairly attractive, quidditch-playing boys, I had new plans for the night. The question was, did they? "Got any plans tonight?" I asked Jeremy.

"I'm thinking of making some." Jeremy said, looking at me carefully. I chuckled, patting the seat beside me; Jeremy slid in, his arm slipping easily around my shoulders.

"Oy, mate, don't—" I put a hand on Jeremy's knee and looked at Albus pointedly; he couldn't actually see where my hand was, but he could see my arm and knew where it went. "Oh, God, make it stop." Albus mumbled, turning to press his face into Molly's shoulder dramatically; Molly laughed softly, dragging her hand through the hair on the back of his head, and I turned to my new friend, letting my gaze flick up to the boys.

"I'll go home and change, meet you at…" I paused, considering. Where to take these boys? While Jeremy seemed game for everything, one of the boys looked a little shy. I'd take them some place low key. "Kiss and Fly. At eleven." I eyed the group. "Bring whomever you'd like." I looked back to Jeremy.

"Someone I like is already coming." He said, grinning. I leaned towards him, kissing his cheek chastely; across from me, Albus removed his face from his girlfriend's shoulder. He grimaced at his teammate.

"Rules." Albus said sternly to Jeremy. "If you are taking out Miss Weasley, I have a duty to run interference." I sighed, rolling my eyes. Albus had inherited this sense of nobility from his dad, and while it was nice, it was more to cover his own ass than it was to protect me. "I will never, ever, ever hear about what happens tonight." He glanced from Jeremy to me. "Ever." He made a disgusted face as if even the idea of this happening made him sad. "Also, if Rose gets raped or murdered—" He held up the _Conjurer's Chronicle_, shaking it a little, "or if _this_ happens again—" He tapped the cover, letting Jeremy see Scorpius and unconscious me, so I kicked Al under the table until he dropped the magazine. "I'll not catch the snitch for the remainder of the season." He raised his eyebrows. "I mean it."

"Bullshit." Jeremy said, snorting. Personally, I agreed. That was total bullshit. Albus wouldn't fuck up _his _season, even if he wanted to fuck up Jeremy's.

"Really want to test that?" Albus demanded. "Because my uncle Ron will string me up by my toes if something happens to Rosie Posie. And I won't be able to be seeker, then." I snorted at the image.

Jeremy looked to me, grinning at me; he put no more stock in Albus's words than I did, and for that I was grateful. "Think you could avoid being raped or murdered and Scorpius Malfoy for the night?"

I grinned at Jeremy, letting my slight inebriation add a little shine to my eyes as I pretended to dwell on the question. Could I handle a Scorpius free night? I thought so. "I think I've got a boy who can fill in." I murmured. Albus, across from me, groaned unhappily.

I was in for a fun night.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, I stood outside Kiss and Fly, the club of the night. There was a big line, but my quidditch boys weren't in it; I'd checked. Also, Rose Weasley didn't wait on lines.<p>

I'd broken out one of my favorite dresses; short with zebra stripes, and sequined. It had straps, and two of them—an improvement on my last dress—but crawled a little higher on my thigh, which, paired with my black Emilio Pucci heels, made my legs look longer. Or maybe just made me look sluttier. Somehow those things had become synonymous to me.

I was getting a few stares from the line outside; I was something like a celebrity, famous for being a disaster more than anything else. I caught one girl's eye and she looked away, murmuring something to her friend, and I felt shame curl in my stomach. Boys never disapproved, and girls always did. And I knew why, I wasn't stupid, but it still made me uncomfortable.

"Rose." Jeremy's voice came from behind me, and I turned to grin at him, running the hand that wasn't holding my clutch through my hair. Jeremy grinned at me, crossing the sidewalk to me; his eyes flicked from me to the many people on line and all their eyes on us. Only two of the guys from earlier had come, and I beamed at them. "Hey."

"Glad you made it." I said, beaming at him; I looked to the other boys. "I'm sorry, I don't think I introduced myself earlier." I said with a big smile. "Rose Weasley."

"Cedric Stern." One boy with light hair said quietly, smiling at me.

"Auggie Croft." The other boy with strawberry blond hair said with an easy smile.

"Well, Cedric and Auggie," I looked to Jeremy, letting my smile burn a watt brighter for him, "and Jeremy, is this everyone's first time at a club?"

"We're not supposed to go out, part of the contract we signed with Coach." Jeremy said to me, his arm slipping around my waist as he pulled me against his side. "But we do." Auggie chuckled. I nodded easily; this wasn't uncommon. It wasn't such hot publicity for quidditch players to be getting plastered every night, even though that was pretty much what they did.

"So no drama, no photographs, I get it, I get it." I looked up at with a smile. I looked back to Cedric and Auggie. "Hope you two can take care of yourselves." I said, beaming as I looked between the two boys.

"They're big boys, Love." Jeremy's nickname made discomfort curl in my stomach, but I ignored it; he'd just slipped. He should know that I was Rose Weasley; I didn't _date_. I was no one's "Love." I just showed up for a good time and then left when the music died down and my blood alcohol had dropped to the legal apparation limit.

"Good." I murmured. "Let's go." I reached out, grabbing Jeremy's hand as soon as he was near enough. "C'mon." I pulled him behind me boldly, towards the entrance to the club. The man at the door nodded to me.

"Miss Weasley." He said somberly.

"They're with me." Three simple words; I used them all the time. I loved taking people clubbing, if they were new to this world. It was a little hilarious and a little disturbing, like taking a kid to an R-rated movie for the first time. It was sort of a step to maturity, but more a step backwards. They'd aged into this new world of alcohol and pounding music and anonymity, in parties and in bed. They'd grown up just enough to earn the right to act like children.

"Go right in." He nodded, and I grinned, cutting the line as I slipped past the people that had been waiting for quite a while. My hand was still firmly around Jeremy's as I tugged him through the door, then down the set of stairs. It was long, with brick walls on each side and dark railings; lights were on the vertical part of each step, the only way we could see our way. We ducked down the steps, the music already audible, and Jeremy, to his credit, kept pace with me; I could run fast in heels. I flashed him a smile, my eyes meeting his in the relative darkness, before I pushed through the door at the bottom of the stairs.

And then we were in a throng of people too thick to see through.

I laughed as the music pounded somewhere overhead, and Jeremy dropped my hand in favor of putting a hand on one of my hips. I let him closer to the music before I turned to face him, stopping as my smile, small and just-for-him, for tonight, anyway, appeared. My hands rested against his chest easily as his other hand found my other hip, my body pressed against his, suddenly. And then I just moved against him, one arm sliding up and around neck, the other still against his chest. I would draw him closer and push him farther away all at once.

I loved this.

I knew why, sick as it was. If I was drunk enough, I could convince myself that this was intimacy, closeness. Because I knew in my heart, when I was waking up the morning after, that I wasn't this close to anyone. I hid my life from my parents, my brother, my cousins. They only learned bits and pieces from tabloids. I never told them anything. And there was no boyfriend, no friends. I had kids I drank with, kids who picked me up when I drank too much. And those kids—they were out on the ledge with me. We all teetered between parties and fun and alcoholism, toeing the line that could undo us. Scorpius and me—we both teetered on the cliff edge, all the time, and kept pulling each other back onto the cliff, when one of us was too close to the edge.

But pulling the other back meant pulling ourselves forward.

So I pulled new people forward, people who fell too far too fast and pulled themselves back. I used people, shamelessly like this. Jeremy, tonight, was just the most recent example; I was using him to pull me forward, because dragging three new-to-the-party boys to a club was best kind of tie to reality I could get.

"You just walked past a line of people who will wait hours to get in here." Jeremy's voice was soft as I slipped my arm from his neck, turning against him so my back was flush against his chest. He put his mouth beside my ear, brushing his lips against the spot below it as I smiled. "That's sort of hot." I grinned, before I heard a familiar voice, only feet away. I moved only my head ever so slightly, my eyes landing on a tall, blond boy several feet away with some girl moving against him. And I could tell by the looseness of his movements, he was drunk.

Oh, Scorpius.

"I'm glad you think so," the words were automatic and my voice husky. I had more than enough stored up for this automatic conversation which I didn't care at all about. Because Jeremy and the fun he was—that lasted for a night. And I had a deal with Malfoy. "Being a quidditch player is a bit of a turn on too, you know." All I had to do was pay off the bartender, I knew. It'd been a little more than four days since I'd intervened. That was what we called them, interventions.

"I knew there was a reason I started playing." Jeremy breathed in my ear. I smiled, tilting my head a little so he could see, and let that be my response; four days was a while for Scorpius to go without my intervention. I could give him some kind of reward for that. When had I put out the fire last time, one AM? Midnight?

How much had he already had, though?

Maybe I could just let him be? Scorpius's girl turned towards him and he stepped back half a step with one foot; I saw his face, his too-shiny eyes. Boy was drunk out of his mind. Ah, hell. It was only eleven-ish, now. Why was he already so plastered? _Even I'm not that bad_. I thought the words with satisfaction. And I was going to hell, I knew. But at least I was better than him. For tonight, I was here with a boy my cousin knew, I was here and not as drunk as Scorpius. Tonight, I won.

And winning came with the one-of-a-kind prize of putting the brakes on Malfoy.

Eleven PM and plastered didn't bode well. He was having a bad night. Something had probably happened that he hadn't wanted to think about, and the girl with barely any clothes on that was dancing against him—she was enough to distract him, if he'd consumed enough alcohol.

Of all the idiotic things.

I let minutes pass, keeping Scorpius in the corner of my eye. Finally, I swallowed, and turned away from Malfoy, who was still upright and thus still not my responsibility, back to Jeremy. "So, let's hear it." I murmured to my boytoy; just another distraction. "Tutshill Tornadoes first string-Keeper at…what, twenty two?" I asked, reaching a hand up to run my hand through his hair. "There's a story somewhere there." My voice was low and a little rough, my performance helped by the fact that one look in Jeremy's eyes told me he'd already had something to drink. He'd been nervous, poor bloke.

"Twenty three." Jeremy corrected lowly.

"Even better." I murmured. "So back to you. You didn't go to Hogwarts, so…"

"How do you know I didn't go to Hogwarts?" Jeremy asked with a grin. The truthful answer would make any boy with a brain run; the reason I knew was because I'd dated every eligible boy at Hogwarts. And any kid with Jeremy's quidditch skills and nice-boy face would have made that list.

"Well…" I murmured. "I'm Rose Weasley. I know everything." I grinned bigger, this time, brightly, and Jeremy laughed quietly, his laugh reverberating in his chest.

"Well Rose Weasley, who knows everything, where do you _think_ I went to school?" Jeremy's voice was soft.

"No French accent, so not Beauxbatons," I murmured. "And even I draw the line at Durmstrang boys." I narrowed my eyes slightly, studying Jeremy's face intently. Without the big three schools, there were only the little ones left, and I was less clear on them. "Brazilian Wizarding School seems unlikely." I said softly, eying his lightly tanned skin. "No Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts grad has ever been a quidditch player." I giggled. "Nor has any grad been male and straight before…" Jeremy grinned, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling for a moment before looking back to me. "Not Salem because I'll eat my own wand if I've finally found myself an American quidditch player—"

"I doubt you've even heard of it." Jeremy murmured. "You all from the big three. Quite arrogant." He was smiling. "We all know your schools—surely you can learn our little schools." He tilted his head to the side. "LeNoire Charm Academy." He admitted after a moment. "It's in Canada. Quebec."

"You're Canadian?" I demanded, raising my eyebrows. "But you have no accent—"

"Summered in England." He admitted, grinning.

"America's Hat." I said sourly, making a face.

"Oh, now." Jeremy laughed.

"I think I can only swallow that with a drink, Jer." I grinned pulling away from the boy. "Want anything?"

"Nah—I should try to find the boys, not abandon them and all that." Jeremy grinned. "See you in a minute?" I nodded, turning away from him without a second glance and pushing through the crowd. But I didn't go towards the bar. I stopped a few steps from Jeremy, leaving just enough people between us so that he couldn't see me. And then I turned pointedly towards the blond boy with the girl dancing all up on him.

I crossed to them, and it was clear that both of them were wholly plastered; Scorpius was not the only sinner in this pair. Neither of them noticed my approach, though I'd come at them form the side so I wasn't hard to spot; drunk enough, and suddenly surroundings seemed superfluous.

I got close enough to them to be right there, standing beside them, when finally, Scorpius and the slut saw me. "Why hello there, friends." I said, grinning; Scorpius looked up at me and grinned.

"Rosie!" He pulled me against him with one arm, and I sighed, slipping my arms around his neck and chest, locking them on his other shoulder; he leaned heavily against me. He smelled like sweat and his cologne—some not-too-overwhelming scent that was a little like peppermint tea—and alcohol. So much alcohol. "This is Rose…" He'd been about to say the girl's name, but then frowned a little, looking distressed. "What is your name?"

Slut had the sense to look offended at this; she backed into the crowd, stumbling away and muttering something about players. She stumbled a little, and I cracked half a smile, looking up at Scorpius. Scorpius looked down at me and grinned, after a moment.

"She was annoying." He whispered loudly to me, and I chuckled.

"You're piss drunk, Malfoy." I retorted, and he shrugged carelessly, his big shoulders moving and throwing him off balance; we both stumbled to one side. "C'mon, Scorp—" I said, pushing my hair out of my face and glancing behind me; I couldn't see Jeremy anymore. Oh, well. I usually only left a boy hanging the morning after, especially a boy as sweet as Jeremy.

Stupid Scorpius.

"I'm taking you home, mate." I said, raising my voice a little so he could hear me over the pulsing music, and I pushed him towards the dark entrance to the club. He stumbled forward, shooting me a grumpy look that made him look like a toddler so much that I grinned at him.

He resisted, but not a lot, as I got him through the door and back onto the stairs I'd been on only minutes before, going the other way. The door at the bottom shut and suddenly it was much quieter; we could still hear the music, but it was no longer threatening to burst our eardrums. "Move it, bud." I ordered, pushing him gently up the stairs; he allowed me to.

"But she was so _pretty_." Scorpius whined, but he was slurring, already. A clock at the top of the stairs told me it was only 11:18.

Why was Malfoy already so drunk?

"Yeah, well, my quidditch player was pretty too." I informed him, raising my eyebrows. "We all could have had fun tonight if you hadn't gotten so drunk that you can barely—ooph, Scorpius!" I said as he stumbled a step and tripped back into me; I grabbed the railing, and kept us both up, before I shoved him off. "You can't even climb stairs, Malfoy," I pointed out dryly as I passed him on the stairs, grabbing his hand and tugging him after me. "I sincerely doubt that you would have had too much fun with Slutty McWhore down there—"

"That's not a very nice name." Scorpius pointed out, grinning lazily at me as we reached the top of the stairs, and I chuckled, grinning back at him as I released his hand, holding open the door. He went through it before spinning to me, and curtsying clumsily. "Why thank you, good sir, for holding the door for a lady—" I laughed, shoving Scorpius through the outer door, now, and back onto the street. The man who had let me in only minutes before glanced at me, and I grinned at him as Scorpius walked to the middle of the sidewalk clumsily; he looked up at the sky and stared at it, open-mouthed.

"Rosie—I can't see any stars!" He cried, sounding distressed. "Where'd they go?" He turned half a step and then stumbled; I shrugged to the man at the door.

"Babysitting's such a drag." I said to him with a straight face.

"I'm not a baby." Scorpius retorted, turning to me. "I'm a man. A gentleman." I looked at him, grinning still, and he dissolved into laughter a half-second later. "No I'm not." He said, shaking his head.

"No, you aren't." I agreed, grinning as I walked forward. "So let's see, Scorp, you're _far _too drunk to disapparate…" I sighed as I steadied Scorpius as he swayed a little. He nodded seriously.

"That I am, my lady." He said somberly, then giggled again. I rolled my eyes, feeling a little giddy. Maybe I was too drunk to disapparate too.

I struggled to remember the maximum blood alcohol level for disapparation. I should know this; Hugo worked in magical transportation. Whatever; did I feel too drunk to disapparate?

"Do we think I've had too much to disapparate too?" I asked, eying Scorpius, whose judgment was, at this point, a little questionable.

"Say the alphabet backwards." He said brightly. I frowned at him.

"I can't do that sober." I pointed out. He snickered.

"How would you know?" He asked. "You never are." I stared at him, an uncomfortable smile gracing my face as I stood stock-still. I was rarely sober, Scorpius wasn't wrong. It still made me wince, that self-disgust in my chest rearing it's ugly head. I was Rose Weasley, daughter of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and this was what I was doing with my life? Drinking myself into a stupor every other night, babysitting Scorpius Malfoy the nights I remained conscious?

_Pull it together, Rose_. The thought shut down all the other thoughts; the ones that made me toss and turn at night and made me want to throw up, now, because that wasn't alcohol twisting my stomach.

Scorpius, drunk off his ass, did not notice my distress, and he bounded forward excited, grabbing my arm. He pulled it out to the side, not hard. "Put your arm out to your side and try to touch your nose with your eyes closed." He said excitedly. "This is how the muggles do it—"

"And I'm supposed to be the one with the muggleborn mum." I retorted, even as I dragged my right arm the rest of the way up to the side and closed my eyes. I felt a little dizzy and exhaled, folding my arm in. This should be easy, no—

My hand touched my chin.

"Hah! You lose!" Scorpius cried pleasedly. I sighed, dropping my arm as I opened my eyes, letting my amused gaze sweep Scorpius. He was a funny drunk.

"Don't get so pumped, Malfoy, this means we're walking back to your apartment." I pointed out, and Scorpius shrugged.

"It's a lovely night, Love." He said, grinning at me and tilting his head to the side; I grinned back at him. It was nice. A little chilled, but that was actually refreshing, just out of the club.

"Alright, start marching, soldier." I ordered, and he snapped to attention and saluted me, then stumbled a little; I laughed, grabbing his arm to keep him upright even as we started in the opposite direction of the line for the club. We made it only a few seconds before he stumbled again, and I winced. "You don't live too far from here, do you?" I asked him, looking up at him, even as I looped my arm around his, leaning my head against his shoulder. I was tired, suddenly.

"I…" He looked around as we reached the corner of the street, his lips pursing unhappily. "If I knew which way was left, I might be able to tell you…" He admitted. I sighed.

"Oy." I looked up at the street sign, then frowned, looking left and then right. Then I tugged Scorpius right. Scorpius lived in muggle London because when he and his father had gone apartment hunting for him, Scorpius's dad hadn't deemed anything on Diagon Alley suitable for Scorpius. So now he had his fancy apartment somewhere around here.

Unlike Scorpius, I didn't quite live off my parents' money, but I wasn't much better. My mum's parents had died a few years ago and, since my parents the War Heroes were well-off, had split their considerable estate between Hugo and me, their only grandchildren. And while Hugo had just aged into being allowed to use it—as a muggle trust fund through a muggle bank, the account could only be accessed by eighteen-and-up—I'd had mine for two years. And I'd bought my apartment—a smallish but cozy thing in a safe neighborhood, the only sensible thing I owned—and then left the rest in the bank. And even with my ludicrous ways, even I couldn't spend that much money that fast.

And the fact of it was, I didn't _buy_ all that much.

Pretty much just food and drinks and then the monthly bills. I'd done a bit of modeling right out of Hogwarts—still did, when I was low on clothes or felt guilty about spending Grandma and Grampa's money on a lifestyle they surely wouldn't approve of—and I was always allowed to keep the clothes from that. And it wasn't like I furnished my apartment well.

"I apologize from pulling you away from your boy tonight." Scorpius's voice was genuinely sad, something that I had only ever seen on him when he was drunk. I sighed.

"You're forgiven." I said after a moment, shrugging. "He was a little…" I paused, thinking of earlier in the night. He'd called me Love. And I let Scorpius do that, because for him, it was ironic, or for alliteration. But no one else. "Clingy." I decided.

"Ew." Scorpius mumbled. "Clingy people are the worst." He frowned. "He is also a terrible quidditch player. I know he's on Pothead's team—"

"No endearing nicknames, please," I cut in.

"Potter, _fine._" He sighed dramatically. "But I know he's on your cousin's team and all but the boy couldn't keep a quaffle out of a sink drain." I laughed, grinning. Albus's team was terrible. Even I, with my hatred of quidditch, knew that. And I really did hate quidditch.

"Albus is a good seeker." I said fairly. "But the rest of the team is shit, agreed." We continued down the street, lapsing into a comfortable silence, and I leaned my head against Scorpius's shoulder. "Your shoulder is comfortable." I told him softly. He nodded.

"It's part of my charm." Scorpius murmured. I smiled a little, pulling my head away and looking down for a moment before I looked up to Scorpius. "So, if you don't mind me asking," I kept my voice soft, but let a little levity into it, "why are you piss drunk before midnight, Malfoy? Because even for us…" I fell silent, my voice drifting off. _Because even for us, piss drunk before midnight is bad._

Scorpius didn't immediately respond; we crossed a street, and got halfway down the block before he finally exhaled shortly. "Mummy and Daddy are displeased with the littlest Malfoy." He said after a moment. I laughed, dragging him further up the block, and he followed me. "It's not funny!" He grumbled.

"You're twenty-years-old, and piss drunk because your parents are mad at you." I told him, turning and walking backwards a step, then two. "That's a little pathetic." I took another step, and this time, I stumbled; Scorpius reached out, catching my arms, but we only had about half a person's worth of balance between us, and we went down, Scorpius landing half on top of me. If I'd landed on top of him, it'd be funny, maybe even a little romantic, even if that wasn't exactly why I kept Scorpius around.

But him landing on me just made the air get knocked out of me.

"Off," I gasped as I shoved his shoulder; his reaction time was a little slow, but two seconds later, he half-rolled, half crawled off of me, sitting on the street beside me as I sucked in air, coughing hard. I _hated_ getting the damned air knocked out of me, because it was a fake injury. I felt like I was going to die for eighteen seconds and then I was fine. "Ow." I muttered, lying on the London sidewalk. This was disgusting. Also, I thought my lungs were dead. "I think I just died a little." I mumbled, my eyes tearing up automatically. Scorpius's head entered my line of vision.

"Are you _crying_?" He demanded, staring down at me, and I shook my head, my breath returning, a little more normally

"Just—ow." I mumbled, pushing myself up a little; my back ached painfully as I did. Scorpius frowned unhappily at me. I pressed my hand to my back. "Ugh, Scorpius, I didn't have enough to drink for this…" I mumbled, hanging my head as I inhaled painfully. "Why do you _weigh _so much?" I grumbled.

"All muscle, baby." He said, grinning and lifting the hem of his shirt; I watched him skeptically as he showed me his abs. "Look at that!"

"I'm glad you're drunk." I said after a moment, my voice amused. "Or else I'd think you were just a tool." Scorpius laughed, letting the hem of his shirt drop and pushed himself to his feet; I watched him unhappily loom above me. He was already a little taller than me when we were both standing. It hardly seemed fair for him to be standing while I sat. "Sit down," I groaned.

"Stand up." He offered, smiling.

"I'm injured." I said pathetically, leaning my head back as I pouted. "Be nice." He nodded.

"I'm drunk." Scorpius mimicked, substituting words. "Be nice."

"Scorpius…" I groaned, but I leaned forward, carefully putting my hands on the sidewalk and pushing myself up into a crouch. My whole back hurt. Stupid Scorpius might actually have been all muscle because boy, did he weigh a lot. I pushed myself up properly, grabbing Scorpius's arm to steady myself before I sighed, grabbing his forearm and pulling him after me down the street. We made it to the end of the block, and after a glance around, I pulled Scorpius to the next block, grinning as I recognized a shop near Scorpius's home. We were only two or three blocks off, now.

"You have very sparkly nail polish on." Scorpius noted, and I glanced back at him to see him studying my hand on his arm.

"Tutshill tornadoes colors—Turquoise and Tangerine." I told Scorpius, and he frowned, looking up at me. Then he pulled his arm back towards him, and before I knew it, he had slid his arm from mine, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. For a moment I thought he was being affectionate—rare, for Malfoy, even when he was drunk—but when he leaned against me, I realize this had a double job.

"He is a bad keeper." Scorpius told me scoldingly, looking down at me. "He is not good enough for Magician Magazine's most eligible bachelorette Rose Weasley."

I sighed heavily, raking a hand through my hair as I looked up to my drinking buddy. "And Slutty McWhore was not good enough for you." I said softly, looking up at him. He shrugged, looking forward as we took a few more steps forward. His arm was still around my shoulders and it was nice—big and warm, because Scorpius had disconcertingly long arms. I liked to make fun of him for them, when I was feeling mean.

"She had nice tits, though." Scorpius said, his voice a little slurred, still, but a little better; he looked down at me. "Your bloke had none." He shook his head. "Your standards are slipping, Weasley."

I laughed, suddenly and loudly, pushing my hand through my hair and momentarily letting the pain in my back fade as my laughter continued. I remembered something my dad had said when Mum had chastised him for making a joke of everything; _If we couldn't laugh, we'd all go insane._

Scorpius and I would be staying sane for a very long time.

I dragged Scorpius the last three and a half blocks to his house in relative silence; he was too preoccupied staying upright, and my back hurt. He was leaning fairly heavily against me by the time we reached his lobby, ducking inside the doors with a muttered charm—I didn't trust Scorpius to have his keys, much less know which pocket he'd put them in—and then towards his elevator. Once in, I released Scorp, letting him lean against the wall. Scorpius looked at me from under hooded lids.

"Dad wants me to stop sleeping around." Scorpius's voice was rusty, now, and I glanced up from the buttons, my fingers still hovering over the button I hadn't yet pressed. I exhaled, pressing the button after a beat before I turned to face Scorpius properly. We were back to this—what his parents were mad at him for, why he was already so drunk. "He told me I was being ridiculous, acting this way—damaging the family name." He barked out a low laugh as the elevator doors slid shut. "How do you _damage_ the name _Malfoy_? My dad was the bane of _Harry Potter's_ existence. Harry Potter _saved _the world—"

"Scorpius." I said softly.

"I don't care about our family name." Scorpius admitted in a slur. He was so drunk, Merlin. "I don't care because his definition of damaging the family name is—such—shit." He shook his head. "Blood doesn't _matter _anymore, doesn't he get that?" He shook his head. "They lost the war. Voldemort is dead, Auntie Bella is dead—"

"Scorpius." I said again, a little louder, and Scorpius fell silent, this time. "Your dad has no right." I said softly.

"That's never stopped a Malfoy before, and Dad's big on tradition." Scorpius muttered as the doors opened; he pushed himself off the wall of the elevator and moved forward. I followed him carefully, before I ducked under one of his arms and pulled it around my shoulder as he got less steady. I pulled him towards the door, unlocking it with a murmured spell before I bumped the door open with my hip. Scorpius turned to me in the doorway, his arm around my shoulders tightening enough to pull me closer to him, and he kissed my cheek. Stubble had already grown and scraped against my cheek, and he pulled back only a moment later, his arm falling from around my shoulders. "Thank you, Weasley, for bringing me home." He mumbled, pulling back from me and turning towards his apartment. He staggered towards his bedroom, calling back over his shoulder. "Next time, find yourself a bloke with a nice rack." He ordered, and then disappeared into his bedroom, and I remained in the doorway to Scorpius's apartment, my eyes bleary as I leaned against his door jam.

I hated drunk Scorpius, sometimes.

* * *

><p>"…did you beat her?" Théo Zabini's amused voice was what woke me up the next morning.<p>

"Shut up." Scorpius muttered; they were both pretty close to me. In fact, I'd have said that they were really close. Like, a foot away, close. Why were they speaking so close to me? It was _early_—I could feel it in my bones, in the air.

"This is hilarious." Théo retorted. "Please see the humor in the fact that Rose Weasley is not only in your bed for the second time since I got here and she looks like she got in a bar fight."

"She doesn't." Scorpius retorted. "She just—it's just her back." He sounded a little distressed.

"What's just my back?" I mumbled sleepily, opening my eyes to blink at the boys; Scorpius and Théo were standing above me. Théo was cradling a mug of steaming coffee which, if I knew Théo, had Bailey's Irish Creamer in it, and Scorpius, beside him, had only his boxers on again. Stupid Scorpius. Learn to wear clothes.

"Did you get into a bar fight?" Théo asked interestedly. I frowned at him, then pushed myself up so I was on my elbows; I twisted my head and my torso just enough so I could catch a glimpse of one of my shoulders. There was a scrape on my shoulder; I could tell from the pulling feeling as I tried to twist that there were more. The open-backed dress I'd worn last night—and was still wearing now—hadn't been much protection from the sidewalk last night.

"Malfoy's fault." I mumbled.

"Holy shit, maybe you did beat her." Théo murmured as I dropped back onto the couch, my eyes closed and my head back on the pillow.

"Just fell on me when we were walking here." I mumbled unhappily. "I'm sleeping now, go away."

"I fell on you?" Scorpius asked, sounding vaguely concerned, but I knew better. Sober Scorpius was never concerned, or nice, or sincere. Sober Scorpius—much like Sober Rose—went to parties for his parents and held his tongue when it was rude and just stared blankly at people a lot.

"You are not a steady person when you are inebriated." I mumbled. "Please let me sleep."

"Why didn't you just apparate—"

"I went out too, last night." I mumbled, squinting up at Scorpius unhappily but keeping my head on the pillow. "You seemed really sorry about making me ditch Jeremy." I stared at him. "Now, lemme sleep."

"Oh, the latest conquest of Miss Weasley's name was Jeremy?" Théo asked. I closed my eyes again. Didn't these boys need sleep?

"He's a friend of Al's." I muttered tiredly, keeping my eyes closed; I heard shifting around me, and the sound of shifting weight on the floorboards beneath the carpet in front of me. I opened my eyes to see that Scorpius was now sitting down, Théo too. "Jeremy Braddock."

"The keeper for Tutshill?" Théo asked. I nodded.

"He's bloody awful." Scorpius said quietly, leaning his head back against the coffee table that sat between the two couches in his living room. "Can't save a quaffle to save his life." I sighed, turning my face back into the pillow.

"Well, your girl last night wasn't exactly the epitome of taste and culture." I mumbled into the pillow. Scorpius and Théo were only a few feet from me—two, three?—so they heard me despite the muffler. "And he's a friend of Albus's and a terribly good flatterer even if he is a little clingy—" I paused. _He's a friend of Albus's_. Oh, shoot. Albus had given Jeremy instructions to keep me away from Scorpius Malfoy yesterday. Al was gonna kill Jeremy if he found out. "Fuck." I groaned into the pillow, pushing my head up. "No tabloids, right?" I asked, my eyebrows coming together; Scorpius shook his head. I exhaled.

"You need bruise salve.' Scorpius murmured.

"You need a Hangover Potion." I retorted, my eyebrows sliding up my forehead. Scorpius had big dark circles under his eyes and a sort of sallow color to his skin; boy was hungover.

"I need a drink." Théo murmured. I laughed softly, smiling at him, before I pushed myself up properly, twisting so I could sit down properly, sliding my folded legs off the couch and letting my feet rest on the floor.

"Can we get breakfast?" I asked.

"I have no food." Scorpius said shortly. "I would have thought you'd know that, by now." I cracked a smile at this, making it big because I knew that his lack of food made Scorpius uncomfortable.

"Let's go out to brunch or something." I suggested lazily. "Shot not paying." I murmured.

"I don't _brunch_." Théo muttered distastefully. I sighed, eying Théo; the tanned French boy was sporting some serious sex hair and his shirt only had two buttons done. But he hadn't brought a girl back here, last night, because Scorpius only had the one bedroom and I was occupying the couch.

"What girl did you run out on this morning?" I asked after a moment.

"Imogen Faughn." He said, not cracking a smile. I raised my eyebrows.

"She's…" I murmured, looking for a tactful way to voice my opinion; Théo nodded unhappily. Imogen Faughn was really unattractive, and aside from being hugely unattractive, was also super bitchy. Her dad was a member of the Wizengamot, and a fairly high up one, I understood, and she liked to brag about it, or use whatever power that gave her. I'd met her before, when Mum and Dad had brought Hugo and I to things.

"I've heard that name." Scorpius murmured.

"Thaddeus Faughn's daughter." I said automatically.

"Ahh." Scorpius nodded. I shifted, extending my arms up and unfolding my elbows, locking my fingers as I arched my back, stretching. Was now a good time to bring up the fact that Scorpius had kissed my cheek last night? I dropped my arms back on my lap, my gaze alighting on Scorpius with a slight smile, that dangerous one that made Scorpius's eyes get clearer, as if he were casting away other debris just to figure out what I was doing.

"By the way, Scorp." I murmured, letting humor curl in my eyes. "Next time you get plastered, do me a favor and don't kiss my cheek, won't you? Makes me feel rather like a first-year at Holiday Ball." I leaned forward, my eyes locked on Scorpius's, and I felt the fabric of my dress slide a little; I knew he could see at least an outline of my cleavage, but his gaze didn't move from my face. He'd gotten used to these games I played. "Go hard or go home, Malfoy."

Scorpius's lips parted in shock as a blush shaded in his pale cheeks; Théo, beside him, snorted into his coffee. I chuckled, pushing myself to my feet and stalking towards his kitchen, ready to start my near-daily search for food despite Malfoy's warning. Besides, it was only fair.

I had to give the boy time to recover.


	4. All the Right Moves

All the Right Moves

_Let's paint the picture of the perfect place,_  
><em>They've got it better then when anyone's told ya.<em>  
><em>They'll be the King of Hearts, and you're the Queen of Spades<em>  
><em>Then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers.<em>  
>-OneRepublic<p>

"This may seem random," I began as I sat at my parents' kitchen counter across from my little brother, the next day; Hugo was pouring himself some tea at the stove. "But what is the blood alcohol limit for disapparation?" Hugo looked up interestedly from his teacup, continuing to pour the steaming water into his little Christmas-themed cup. I'd bought him that cup for last Christmas and he'd used it every time since; it hummed a little carol every time you reached the bottom of the cup.

"Actually, the blood alcohol limit for disapparation has changed more times than any other regulation of the Ministry's." Hugo said, his eyes bright. "It was initially established in 1404 when Sir Roger Sherman spliced his wife Alice when they were both under the influence, and then it was just one limit, more than three drinks and you couldn't disapparate—remember," He said, raising his eyebrows, "this was before we could measure blood alcohol." I nodded once as if this was something I'd thought about; it was not. "In 1621, the Minister of Transportation at time was a muggleborn who was raised puritan so he banned all drinking before travel, so clearly that had some effect on the law since you were simply just _banned, _no allowances whatsoever." Hugo paused for a breath. "But _then_ in 1763—and this is really, quite funny—" Hugo chuckled to himself, "it got raised by Barney Dewey who was the Minister at the time and a drunk, and he said after seven beers you couldn't disapparate, which is clearly just so outrageously high that it barely applies—"

"Hugh…" I said, my eyes on his teacup as the steaming water spilled over as the Christmas tree on the side of the cup frowned unhappily, looking up at Hugo. "You're spilling."

"Agh, sorry." Hugo muttered as he straightened up the teapot and dropped it onto the stove with a clatter. "Okay, okay—" Hugo muttered, frowning down at the mess. I pulled out my wand and flicked it lightly at the water on the counter; with the hissing sound of water evaporating, the water disappeared. "Thanks." He said gratefully, glancing up at me.

"Repay me by shortening the tale and telling me the blood alcohol limit of 2026." I said shortly.

"Alrighty." He agreed, adjusting his cup as he slid the tea bag into the water, his back to me. "If it's just you, it's no more than point-oh-eight." He said easily. "If you're side-alonging with someone, then the disapparator has to have no more than point-oh-five, and the person being side-alonged can't have more than point-oh-two, since it's easier for them to be spliced by a factor of two-point-four." Hugo said briefly. "More than two people, you can't be drunk and neither can they."

"Oh." I said after a moment; I hadn't realized the limits were so specific. I'd been breaking them left and right. "Awkward."

"Rosie…" Hugo glanced back at me concernedly as he lifted his tea cup, turning back to face me and leaning back against the countertop. "Those laws exist for a reason. You'll splice yourself."

"I haven't yet." I said, raising my eyebrows.

"Pure dumb luck." Hugo countered.

"My luck resents being called dumb." I countered, grinning. My little brother smiled. Hugo was only two years younger than me—eighteen to my twenty—but infinitely more focused. He had a job at the place he wanted, doing something he _loved_; he was clerking for the man who regulated transportation. Hugo was a little bit of an old man—he drank tea _all the time_ and loved his job and didn't like clubbing or drinking. I would have called him boring but he wasn't, not really. He was just interested in his very specific stuff.

At least he wasn't following the positively _shining_ example I'd set.

We didn't spend a lot of time together because we were so different, but I really did love my little brother. So when he'd called me this morning and asked me to come home so we could "talk," I'd come without a second thought. Weird though it may sound for the girl who sold out her family at fifteen for a boy, I really did love my parents and my little brother. I just hated them knowing what I did, because everyone thought I could do so much _more _than what I did. So I kept my distance.

"So let's hear it, little brother." I said. "Why am I here? Is this about a girl? Did you finally get yourself an old lady to be crotchety with?" Hugo frowned at me, and I grinned. "Or a boy? I'm not picky, you know, about the gender of sibling-in-law—"

"You're mean." Hugo said, frowning as he lifted to wiped at his chin with the hem of his sleeve.

"I'm just trying to figure out why I'm sitting in Mum and Dad's kitchen." I said, raising my eyebrows. Hugo sighed. "I feel like I'm in trouble."

"They're not even here." Hugo countered. I just held Hugo's gaze and he exhaled, putting his tea down on the countertop and leaning against it. "I have a favor to ask." He said after a second.

"Is this a 'lend me your copy of _Hogwarts, A History_' favor or a '_I got a girl pregnant'_ favor?" I asked, a little uneasily. Hugo was sort of intellectual and quiet and straight-to-the-point. And here he was, dancing around a point. This was more something _I _did.

"Somewhere in between." He admitted. I straightened up.

"Uh-oh." I murmured. "What's up?"

Hugo let out a breath. "I need a place to live." He admitted.

I stared at him. "A place to live?" I asked after a moment, my eyebrows pulling together. "Did you fight with Mum and Dad or something—because that's not a reason to move out—and for all that I keep my distance, they are very—"

"No, no—" Hugo shook his head vigorously. "No. Mum and Dad are awesome about me living here, but—they're just—" He ran his head through his shock of red hair, identical to my own. Hugo and I actually looked a lot alike, both of us inheriting Dad's big blue eyes and scarlet hair. Hugo was actually a little clone of our Mum, though, or part of Mum. Mum tended to be a bit more spit-fire than Hugo was. "They're Mum and Dad." He shrugged a little, simply, and I stared at him, incomprehendingly. Our parents were our parents? Whew, was that a load off _my _mind.

"What are you getting at, Hugh?" I asked. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking distinctly like a little boy again.

"I just…" He tilted his head to the side. "Want to not live with my parents."

"Hmm." I said after a moment. Hugo wanted to not live with his parents—I got that. I didn't live with my parents for that reason. Mum and Dad were lovely people but I was mostly grown (even if I didn't always act like it) and Hugo was ten times more mature than any other eighteen-year-old on the planet, and had a job as well as the money our grandparents had left _him_. But what did this have to do with me? "Then move out." I suggested.

"That is where you come in." Hugo said, nodding.

"In what way?" I asked.

Hugo began talking very fast. "I know we have that money from Mom's parents." He said breathlessly, and I frowned; what point was he proving? "But here's—the thing." He paused, his eyes watching my face, and I smiled a little, trying to make him more comfortable. "I know that Ministry officials don't make a lot of money, and I want to save it. So I can, you know," He blushed a little. "Buy a house and stuff."

I pressed my lips together, suppressing a smile. Hugo wanted to buy a house at some point—potentially for a wife. For kids. That was adorable. "So I need somewhere cheap to live but Mum and Dad won't let me move some place unsafe." He exhaled. "And you have an apartment in a safe neighborhood that has a pull-out couch."

Silence fell as I finally understood what he was asking. He wanted to live with me. Hugo wanted to live with me. _Ahhh. _"You want to live on my pull-out couch?" I asked after a moment, frowning at Hugo. He nodded decisively, and I sighed. I could come up with a million reasons not to live with Hugo, the chief one being that my family wasn't aware of the company I kept. Even if they saw a magazine cover, there was a difference between being photographed with someone and being _sort of friends _with Scorpius Fucking Malfoy. What if Hugo tattled to my parents? But if I explained this to him, he would know _anyway_, thus defeating the purpose of not letting him move in in the first place.

Blargh.

"How is living with your big sister better than living with your parents?" I asked, half-hoping he might be able to talk himself out of this, since I was running shot on explanations I was willing to give. "Isn't that the same concept?"

"It's not," Hugo said slowly, because _you're_ my big sister." Hugo shrugged uncomfortably. "You don't bother me or make me do stuff or—anything. You actively encourage me to be less responsible every time I see you. You're very chill." I snorted; had anyone ever described me that way before? I did not think so. Hugo seemed to realize he wasn't winning too many points. "Please let me live on your couch." He finished a little desperately.

"Hugo." I said after a moment.

"Please, Rosie." He said, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling for a moment before he looked back down to me. "I'll do anything. Seriously. I'll pay rent, or I'll build you a—"

"No, save your rent money." I said, shaking my head and feeling guilty. Hugo wanted to keep the money to buy a house, for his future. Why did he think of so easily, like that; I did not. "Just." I exhaled. "I mean…" I had to come up with a reason. Just one reason why my little brother couldn't live with me.

"I know I'm not—the—" Hugo's voice was strained, and I focused back on Hugo, surprised at how seriously he wanted this. "I'm not the funnest or anything, I know, Rosie, but I really want this. And there's no one else to live with. Terry and Kevin already share an apartment and have no couch, or table, or fridge; James and Sera are _engaged_ and James is a little scary; Albus and Molly are dating and Molly might be a little scarier; Fred switches landlords every two weeks because his experiments keep scaring his neighbors and _please _don't make me join _that_ traveling circus—"

I groaned, dropping my head to my arms. Hugo's arguments were all sound. Fred's life was indeed a traveling circus. "You may live with me." I said unhappily into my arms. _But he'll find out about Scorpius_, that sensible voice in my head, somewhere, shouted, and I shushed it.

"Yes!" Hugo cried. "Best sister ever."

"My apartment is a complete mess, Hugh," I warned as I lifted my head to look up at him, hoping he'd jump ship if I explained some of my reasons that he absolutely shouldn't be doing this. Just not the big reason. "I keep _loony _hours because I don't really have a job and I am always clubbing—" _and sometimes I bring Scorpius Malfoy over._

"I _promise_ not to be a bother. Ever." He swore. _Too late_.

"Bloody hell." I muttered, dropping my head to my arms again.

I needed to get better at this whole lying thing.

* * *

><p>"You agreed to <em>what?"<em> Celia demanded as she laid on Scorpius's floor beside me that afternoon. I covered my face with my hands, nodding. "Are you stupid, Weasley?"

I considered her question. Maybe I was stupid. After all, Scorpius had several very comfortable pieces of living room furniture. And I was lying on the flood of his living room, my back against the ground. Celia, of course, was lying beside me, so if I was the dumber for it, she was too.

I'd gotten here an hour ago and Scorpius wasn't here, but I knew all the enchantments in and out of his apartment. And Celia had let herself in fifteen minutes ago and laid down beside me. She told me Scorpius was coming home soon—they'd both been at a thing for Scorpius's Mum, she'd been honored at some charity brunch. But Scorpius, as son of the honoree, had to stay longer.

"He just wanted to—strike it out on his own." I mumbled into my palms unhappily. "He's never independent! He's always timid and hiding from people and now he has this grown-up job and wants to move out of our parents' house." I slid my hands from my face. "What was I supposed to _do_?"

"Lie. Tell him no. Explain that your landlord sometimes eats people." Celia suggested rapid-fire. "Tell him whatever fits your fancy."

I stared at Celia for a moment before I sighed. "I don't have a landlord." I murmured.

Celia rolled her eyes. "Then come up with any other lie." She said firmly, as if this were obvious.

"I feel guilty lying." I said after a beat, frowning a little. Celia stared at me, her jaw slacking an inch as she gaped at me. I pouted as I looked back at her. "What?" I demanded self-consciously. "I know you were raised by pureblood wolves but my parents were all about the morals and the acceptance and truth."

"No wonder you were in Gryffindor." Celia muttered. "You're far too boring and principled." She flopped back against the carpet with a muffled _thwomp_.

"Thanks, Celia." I said sarcastically.

"You're so welcome." Celia said, smiling, and then I heard the click of the door unlocking; I tilted my head to the side, and around Celia and in the space beneath the couch, I cold see all the way to the front door; it opened, and I saw a pair of familiar, shiny black shoes step onto the hardwood floor.

"Scorpius, how nice of you to join us!" I said grandly, remaining on the floor. The shoes paused. Celia, beside me, laughed a little. "Malfoy, it's rather rude not to acknowledge your house guests, whether they are expected or not." I said after a second, chuckling a little, but there was still no response. The shoes shifted a little, turning a little more towards my voice, and I inhaled. Maybe this wasn't Scorpius.

"Hello?" I heard a man's voice, older than Scorpius; I felt my breath catch in my chest. That wasn't Scorpius Malfoy.

That was _Draco_ Malfoy.

I swallowed. Celia, beside me, swiveled her head to stare at me. Draco Malfoy. _Shit._ What was I supposed to do about this? I pushed myself up into a sitting position, still hidden by the couch. "Hi Mr. Malfoy." I said after a moment, trying not to sound too sheepish as I put a hand on the couch, reaching over Celia, and my other on the coffee table. I pushed myself to my feet in a rush, the sudden rush in my head making my head hurt. I pressed a hand to the side of my head and grinned apologetically at Draco Malfoy.

My sort-of-friend's father was paused in the doorway, impeccably dressed as always. He was in black pants, and black shoes (with white socks, the only light-colored part of the whole outfit) and a black suit coat and black shirt and black tie. It stood in painful contrast to his blond hair and gray eyes.

"Rose Weasley?" He asked after a moment, his voice a little shocked. He hasn't anticipated seeing anyone, here. Much less me. _Hah, I shocked Mr. Malfoy_. Something to be proud of, if I hadn't been so nervous.

"Nice to see you again." I said conversationally, beaming at him as I tugged on my dress, straightening it a little.

"…Lovely to see you too." Mr. Malfoy said quietly, his gaze sharp on me. There was a pause. Finally, he continued: "How did you get in?" Mr. Malfoy asked, frowning a little and looking back at the door. "Didn't Scorpius lock the door?"

"He did." I said, still smiling, but now there was uncertainty in my voice. "I know the enchantments." I supplied, sheepish still. Mr. Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, now, as he released the door and squared off to me. I could see the thoughts on his face, because I could read Scorpius so well and Mr. Malfoy's defenses, which I was sure had, at one point, been comparable with his son's, had softened with age.

"Scorpius told you the enchantments to his apartment?" Mr. Malfoy asked slowly. I nodded uncertainly. He nodded once, his eyebrows still halfway up his forehead, and his gaze swept me before he sighed, his eyes flicking to the edge of the couch. "Celia, get up." He said tiredly, after a moment. Celia pushed herself up, shooting me a mean _how did you tell him_ look while I frowned defensively back at her as she rose, reaching up to adjust her hair as her shimmery purple dress settled.

"Mrs. Malfoy's brunch was lovely, Mr. Malfoy." Celia said after a moment.

"Thank you, Celia." Mr. Malfoy murmured. "Mrs. Malfoy was rather pleased with the whole event except I think that she wished that Scorpius had brought a girl," his gaze flicked to me, searing, "but I don't think she realized he left one at home."

I shook my head immediately. "I'm just friends with your son." I said firmly. Mr. Malfoy nodded once, his gaze sliding to the large Slytherin Wall banner that hung on Scorpius's door, before he looked back to me. The silent point was clear; Ron and Hermione Weasley's daughter didn't belong here.

"Do your parents know you're here, Rose?" Mr. Malfoy's voice was heavy; he didn't mean did they know where I was this specific moment. He meant if my parents knew that I was friends enough with Scorpius Malfoy to be in his apartment. I swallowed, pushing my hair from my face as I considered how to answer.

"No." I admitted after a moment. Celia was right; I really did have to work on lying.

"Doubtless they would be perturbed to learn of your…" he pursed his lips a little, "_friendship_, with my son." I felt unease curl in my lungs; it sounded like Mr. Malfoy was implying something heavier here, but I couldn't figure out what it was.

"They might." I agreed after a moment, the only words I could find. I felt like we were talking in code, only I didn't understand what we were saying. "But I've always been on my own path." The words left my lips before I could register I wanted to say them; Mr. Malfoy's gaze narrowed ever so slightly as he looked at me.

Before I could, the lock on the door turned once more and it opened. Scorpius stood in the doorway, now, with Théo Zabini beside him, a smile dying on his lips as his father twisted to see him. His gaze flicked from his dad to me, his eyebrows coming together ever so slightly, and, with Mr. Malfoy's back to me now, I shrugged, my eyes a little wide; I had no idea why Mr. Malfoy was here. "Dad." He said after a moment. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

"It says something to me that you asked me that and not the girls standing in your living room." Mr. Malfoy said quietly. Scorpius's jaw worked but he said nothing, and we stood in tense silence for a moment before Mr. Malfoy exhaled, the air escaping barely audibly. "May I have a moment, Scorpius?" He murmured. I glanced at Celia, and she frowned at me.

"We just spent three and a half hours together in the Claridge's ballroom." Scorpius said evenly. "Why come to my apartment?"

"I was hoping for a little _privacy_." Mr. Malfoy murmured, and Scorpius's glance flicked from his father to us again. "Clearly, my wishes will be unfulfilled, but humor an old man and speak to me in your bedroom for a moment." He paused. "Unless I shall find Lily Potter in there—"

"Dad!" Scorpius hissed, and I felt heat flood my face at my cousin's name.

"I hardly expected to find Rose Weasley in your living room, Scorpius." Mr. Malfoy's voice was icy. "I do not know what will be in your bedroom." He shook his head.

"I'd still rather you not bring Lily into this." Scorpius hissed.

"Don't be a child." Mr. Malfoy said angrily. "Lily Potter is not the point, because she is not the redhead standing in my son's living room." The frustration on Scorpius's face made me open and close my hands; what was I supposed to do, here?

"Fine, let's _talk_." Scorpius said finally. "Privately. My bedroom. Go."

Mr. Malfoy took a deep breath before he turned to the side and crossed into Scorpius's bedroom, the Slytherin curtain on the door fluttering a little as he passed it. Scorpius's gaze flicked from his father to Celia and then to me.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Avoiding my brother." I said honestly. He nodded, then ran a hand over his hair, looking towards his bedroom for a moment before he looked back to me. He wanted to ask another question, but couldn't bring himself to; I could see it in the slightly crazed look in his eyes. I had seen other people give each other that look.

"I'm fine." I offered after a moment. I felt Celia stiffen beside me, and behind Scorpius, Théo started a little, but it was clearly the answer that Scorpius was waiting for as the crazed look dropped away and his shoulders dropped. "Go talk to your dad." I said, my throat feeling funny, and Scorpius hesitated for a moment before he slid off his coat and threw it onto the back of the couch and followed his father into the bedroom, before slamming the door shut behind him.

"Oh, shit." Théo murmured in the doorway, still; he was staring at me. I stared at him; I didn't understand enough of what had just happened. Celia waved him farther into the apartment, holding a finger to her lips, even as she slid past me, towards the door; she wanted to eavesdrop.

It quickly became apparent that we didn't need to be anywhere near the door to hear what was going on.

"_Really_, Scorpius? You're sleeping with Rose Weasley of all people—do you understand what you're doing, here?" Mr. Malfoy was half-shouting already, and Celia froze at the end of the couch, as I stopped a half step behind her. Scorpius clearly hadn't put any spells to sound proof the walls, here. He probably hadn't thought he'd have to. "We have _no business_ getting involved in _that family_, do you hear me? This will end _right now_."

"I'm not _sleeping_ with Rose—" Scorpius's voice was so incredulous that I had to think his dad would believe him.

"You sleep with everyone, I'm not stupid." Mr. Malfoy shot back. "You think I don't see the tabloids? You think your mother doesn't—"

"Don't bring Mum into this!" Scorpius shot back. "And if you're not stupid, then know the truth when you hear it!" Scorpius shouted, and this was properly shouting; it was quite loud, even a room away. I wasn't sure I'd seen this "I'm not sleeping with Rose!"

"I don't believe you." Mr. Malfoy ground out, and this was quieter, now. I exhaled, and Celia turned to stare at me, looking thoroughly amused.

"I'm not going to excuse my life to you, Dad, I'm an adult and I don't have an obligation to you, especially when you _break into_ my apartment to have some conversation with me about—"

"You're upset that your _father_ 'broke in' to your apartment, but Rose _Weasley_ is free to know your enchantments?" Mr. Malfoy shouted, and silence fell. "What are you playing at, son, because I'm mighty tired of this _lifestyle_." Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and I felt Théo Zabini's gaze on my face; I glanced at him, and he raised his eyebrows slightly. I frowned at him, and he rolled his eyes, looking back towards the door. "This isn't a life for the Malfoy heir."

"Rose knows the enchantments on the fucking apartment, _Father_," Scorpius's voice was as sarcastic as his father's, "because she brings me home from _clubs_ sometimes. I do the same for _her_. We are not _sleeping_ together." He bit out a laugh. "We're doing the fucking _opposite_ of sleeping together."

"I won't have you adopting another stray, Scorpius." Mr. Malfoy hissed. "You've already decided to take Théo under your wing and that's fine, but _no more_."

"Théo and I have been friends since I was six-years-old!" Scorpius exploded. "He's not some stray I took in!"

"And somehow Rose Weasley learned the enchantments to your house before he did." Mr. Malfoy murmured. There were a few beats of silence, and then Mr. Malfoy's voice, low and indistinguishable, now, because he was too quiet; then Scorpius's voice, also too quiet to quite translate. Then the door opened, and Mr. Malfoy stormed out, crossing to the door swiftly before he paused just before it, hesitating with his leather-gloved hand on the doorknob. Then he turned back to us, his gaze landing on me.

"Wish your parents well for me, Rose. I barely ever see them." And with that, he turned around and tugged open the door, leaving the apartment with the quiet shutting of the door behind him. There was a crashing sound in Scorpius's room, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. There was another crash in Scorpius's room; he was throwing things against the wall.

"Aren't you going in there?" I asked Théo lowly.

"Hell no." Théo muttered, snorting.

"Best not to approach an angry scorpion." Celia murmured, and Théo didn't even move at the terrible joke. My head was sort of spinning, and that must have been what forced me forward; I slid around Celia, ignoring the noise of warning she made as I rounded the couch and went towards the bedroom. I'd never had to handle this before with Scorpius; he was emotionless, cold. Unattached. Everything I pretended to be. And I could pretend, as long as he was.

Only, he wasn't playing our game anymore.

I put my hand on the doorknob and opened the door uncertainly, opening it only enough for me to stand, half-way visible, between the door and the door jamb. Scorpius was on the other side of his bed, his face white and his eyes cold as he turned to look at me. His too-pale skin was pierced the flushed spot on each cheek; he looked almost like one of those china dolls with the porcelain skin, only Scorpius was so much less breakable. Or at least, I thought he was.

"I'm sorry I was here when your dad was." I said softly, slipping inside and closing the door behind me. I kept my hands on the doorknob, leaning back uncomfortably against it as I tried to judge the mood in the room; Scorpius was angry, I knew that for certain. "I'm sorry your dad and you fought." These words were insipid. I didn't know what I was doing here. But didn't someone have to be standing here? And if someone had to be here, it might as well be me.

"That's not your fault." Scorpius said quietly, seriously. I stared at him.

"It was just about me?" I asked with a half smile, tilting my head to the side. Scorpius looked down, picking at the line of embroidery on his comforter. I pressed my lips together. C'mon, Rose, just another minute of this and then you could stop being dependable for people. "I'll leave, if you want." I said softly, and Scorpius's fingers stopped, his entire being going still at the suggestion. "You can void our deal—or whatever this is."

Silence stretched as I pressed my lips together in a grimace. "Do you want that?" Scorpius asked, and I did not miss the way his voice was harder than I wanted it to be. Could he just show emotion for two seconds?

I couldn't tell what he was thinking, and I couldn't just say 'no.' I couldn't because if I did, and Scorpius did want me to leave—if this was just a ploy, another game—then this might dissolve in the time it took for a shocked expression to convey that his question hadn't be serious.

"Do you?" I asked him after a moment. Scorpius stared at me.

"I asked you first." He murmured. I laughed a little, looking away from Scorpius's terrible gaze to the floor, to see the smashed things. A clock with the glass shattered on the front of it; a glass cup that had shattered as well. Scorpius had broken these things. I sighed, reaching into my pocket and pulling my wand out, flicking it at the mess on the ground; the glass shards flew from where they'd fallen in the miniscule cracks between the wood slats of the floor, flying to hover lightly in the air. I flicked my wand lightly and a paper cup floated in from Scorpius's bathroom, flying through the air. It caught the shards, and I flicked my wand towards the dresser, where the cup settled.

"Am I getting an answer?" He asked me after a moment, his gaze on me. I shook my head, smiling a little, ruefully. "Rose…" He groaned.

"Don't be too put out." I said to him, my voice soft. "I keep all the boys hanging." The corners of my mouth turned up. "Especially ones named Malfoy."

Scorpius stared at me for a moment, his gaze scraping against my face. "Then I need a drink." Scorpius muttered tiredly, running a miserable hand down his face. I grinned at him, all happy feeling absent from my expression and ripping a hole between my lungs. There were only moments when this misery hit me—the misery that reminded me how far I was from everyone else on earth. But when it did, it was all I could do not to drown in it.

One look at Scorpius told me I wasn't the only one drowning.

"I may not be able to answer your question, but I know how to get a boy a drink." I said softly to Scorpius, still smiling without good humor. He nodded, and I reached up, touching my hair before turning my back to him and opening the door. The Slytherin door curtain rippled as I slipped past it. I stepped into the living room and paused as I realized that Celia and Théo were gone, the living room empty.

Scorpius stepped up behind me. "They're scared of me when I'm mad." Scorpius said quietly behind me, and I smirked a little, crossing the floor in my flats to the liquor cabinet that had the magical radio on top of it.

"Unless they're made of glass and in danger of being shattered, I can't imagine why." I said dryly as I crouched down.

Scorpius didn't respond as I opened the small cabinet, then the mini-fridge within; I pulled out the vodka bottle, and the orange juice. I rose elegantly, like a ballerina from a plié, and gently closed the cabinet with my leg as I pulled forward the two clean glasses that sat on top of the little bar. I opened the ice bucket and scooped out a few cubes for each glass before closing it again, and then I unscrewed the vodka. I poured a hefty amount into each glass—neither of us were lightweights—before I put down the vodka and evened the bitter alcohol out with the juice. And then I took a cup in each hand and walked over to Scorpius, putting them both on the coffee table before I turned, grabbed the vodka and orange juice, and put it down on the coffee table, too. And then I sat.

Scorpius lifted his glass, clinked mine lightly, then lifted it to his lips, tilting his head back and taking a sip. Except he just kept sipping—one second, two, five. In ten, the whole glass was finished, and he made a _hahhh_ noise as he put the glass down, hard, on the coffee table.

So that was how this was going to go.

Two drinks later, we were both nearer to drunk then to sober. And two drinks later—much heavier on the vodka than the orange juice—we still hadn't said a word, each of us trying to out drink the other before finally, Scorpius spoke, leaning forward, staring at his empty glass in his hand. "I punched Théo once." He said to the empty air.

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

"I don't _know_." Scorpius looked up at me. "We were fighting but he was drunk," Scorpius leaned his head to one side, "and I," he leaned his head to the other side, " was drunk. And then I _punched_ him."

"That was rude." I told him, frowning. "You should apologize." Scorpius nodded, still staring at his cup, then he looked up at me, his eyes wide, and I felt a plunging feeling somewhere near my stomach.

"I think," He said factually, because Scorpius could either say meaningful things unemotionally or say unemotional things meaningfully, but could not give on both fronts. "I'm becoming my father." He looked back down at his glass, an unhappy smile pulling at his lips.

The words played in my head, flipping around and shifting before returning to their original positions. "That would be rather awkward for your mother." I murmured softly. Scorpius doesn't dignify my terrible retort with a response, and I took a deep breath, dragging sincerity to my stomach and forcing myself to use it. "But you're not." I said the words shakily; this was new territory for me. We did not talk like this.

"How do you know that?" Scorpius's voice was terribly soft.

I considered his question for a moment, staring at the table. I didn't know Draco Malfoy very well, besides a few stories my parents had shared with me. Scorpius, on the other hand, I knew better than almost anyone else on the planet. Because _we were the same person_. "Because." I said after a moment. "When you came in today, you wanted to know if I was alright." I swallowed. "And you asked your dad not to bring Lily into the argument." I looked up at the boy beside me. "You are so much better than your dad, Scorpius." He stared at me reverently.

Silence fell between us for a moment before Scorpius exhaled. "How did you know I wanted to know if you were alright?" He asked, lifting his glass and studying it interestedly.

"Just did." I said simply. "I'm still mighty glad you got here when you did, I was beginning to get a little sassy with your dad and I am not wholly certain, Malfoy, that I would have still been alright had you come later." I smiled a little sadly, looking to the coffee table. There was silence for a moment, and then Scorpius made a choking noise; I looked at him, alarmed for the briefest of moments that he might be crying. I could wing this whole two-parts-drunk-one-part-sad thing that Scorpius had going on right now; add tears, and this whole system would quickly fall apart.

"You got…_sassy_, with my dad?" Scorpius repeated, and I exhaled in relief; he wasn't crying. His face was rapidly reddening. A snicker escaped.

"He was being rude." I said, a little indignantly, but I was smiling despite myself.

"I don't think anyone's been sassy with Draco Malfoy since…" He shook his head. "I don't even know." He chuckled, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes. I grinned, putting my glass down on the table. I'd just had a serious talk with Malfoy for the first time in my memory. Who said midday drinking wasn't healthy?

Everyone with a degree.

"So what's your dark creepiness?" Scorpius asked, cracking his eyes open an inch as he looked up at me from where he was prostrate on the couch.

"You mean the Rose Weasley version of your daddy issues?" I asked, smirking a little; Scorpius pouted. "Those will have to wait for another day, Malfoy. I'm not sure the planet could handle Malfoy _and_ Weasley airing their inner twistiness. The apartment might implode." I put a hand on the top of the couch and on the seat beside my thigh, pushing myself up. Scorpius shot into a better-seated position, his hand shooting out to grab my hand.

"If we're not going to talk…" Scorpius began, his voice husky, and I felt my smile fade as I looked down at him. I let my hand close around his wrist, my own wrist still in his hand, and I tugged him to his feet, letting the hand that had been around his wrist slide up his arm as his hold on my wrist loosened. My fingers trailed up his arm, to his shoulder, my palm pressing to his shoulder blade, there, my fingers fanned out against the material of his shirt. I slipped my other arm around his neck. "Good to know we're still on the same page." He breathed to me as his hands found my hips.

"Are we?" I asked lowly, threading my fingers through the hair on the back of his neck; Scorpius's gaze got a shade darker, then two. "Because," I dragged my hand from the back of his neck, sliding it over to touch his cheek, "I am," I reached up to a stand of his blond hair back from his face, "thinking about," My hand rested on the back of his head, and I curled my fingers on his back, "going shopping." I side-stepped and Scorpius's hands fell from my hips, his face twisting unhappily as I grinned at him, stepping backwards a step before I turned and walked around the couch. I felt a pillow—one of the small, decorative ones on the couch—hit my back, and I couldn't help the eruption of laughter, though I was fairly sure that wasn't what Scorpius was going for.

"Rose!" Scorpius exclaimed. "I hate you!"

I laughed softly as I reached the door to his apartment, my hand on the doorknob as I turned to face him, grinning properly now; he was gaping at me.

"Now, we both know that's not true." I said, laughter thick in my voice, before I turned the doorknob and tugged the door open, turning back to the door and slipping out into the hallway. I closed the door behind me.

_I_ didn't even understand the games I played, sometimes.

* * *

><p>I got back to my apartment an hour later, a shopping bag with a new shirt and dress in it in hand. I dragged my wand against the door, murmuring the four words that made the charms deactivate. I slipped inside, closing the door behind me before I turned to face my apartment.<p>

Hugo, surrounded by boxes and boxes, piled high with things, was seated on my pull-out couch. I stopped between two piles of boxes that were each four boxes high, nearly my height. Hugo looked up at me from where he was watching the television.

"Hi Ro." He said after a moment. I pressed my lips together, observing the state of my apartment. I hadn't quite realized Hugo had wanted to move so fast, and I didn't really know why he did. And maybe, if I was a better older sister, I would ask, or maybe demand to know why.

Instead, I just dropped my bags at the foot of one of the box towers in my apartment. I turned and walked into the kitchen and towards the refrigerator, tugging it open and grabbing two beers. I walked back into the living room with the beers and passed one to my little brother, pulling my wand out as I flopped down on the couch beside him. I tapped the top of my beer and the top flew from it, landing lightly on the table. I took a swig of the beer, looking to Hugo. He was frowning at the beer bottle.

"I might have packed my wand." He admitted after a moment. I sighed, reaching out to tap his beer bottle as well, before I looked at the television; Hugo was watching some muggle documentary on trains.

This was going to go _greeeeeat_.


	5. Peacock

Peacock

_Skip the talk, heard it all, time to walk the walk  
><em>_Break me off, if you bad, show me who's the boss  
><em>_Need some goose, to get loose, come on take a shot  
><em>_Come on baby let me see  
><em>_What you're hiding underneath.  
><em>_-Katy Perry_

_Beeeeeep. Beep beep beep beep. Beeeeeeeep._

There was an alarm clock going off somewhere in my apartment. And this was quite peculiar because it was one of my commandments that _Alarm clocks shalt not enter thy home._ So what act of the devil, then, had led an alarm clock into my house? Who was going to die for their terrible, terrible sin?

_Hugo_.

I cursed under my breath. My stupid, idiotic, moronic, _employed_ little brother who was now living with me. My stupid, idiotic, moronic, _employed_ little brother had not only brought an alarm clock into my apartment but was now sleeping through it, so it got to wake _me_ up. Merlin. I was going to hex him into next week.

Forcing myself to remember that fratricide would land me in Azkaban, I turned over in my bed and forced my legs out from under the dark blue fuzzy blanket that my dad had bought me for my birthday last year. I hadn't properly ever gotten under the covers last night, instead falling asleep reading a book on magical cryptography—I had an affinity for breaking magical locks that had been used in many a Weasley family prank—under the blanket that was usually folded at the end of my bed. I clutched the blanket around myself, as I sat on the edge of my bed, the sleepy dizziness of abrupt consciousness making me hesitate.

I was going to kill Hugo.

That thought was enough to force me to my feet. I was at least in semi-respectable Pajamas, though I was fairly sure I looked like the Wicked Witch of the West, my hair a total mess and my expression clearly with the state of affairs. _It was too damned early. _I stumbled towards the half-open door to my bedroom and pushed through it grumpily. Hugo snored loudly from my pulled-out couch, his legs—too long for the bed—sprawled so his feet hung off.

And on the TV stand, an alarm clock was flipping out.

I snarled a spell at it; it exploded, the handle flying into the air and smoke chugging out of the back of the clock. It beeped once more, a sad sort of mourning sound, before it gave up the good fight. I stared at it, my hand closed around my wand, considering what other damage to inflict. Next, I turned to my brother and, instead of hexing him, I crossed to the bed, or tried—instead, I tripped over a box on the floor. _Two days _since Hugo had moved in and all his stuff was still in boxes all around the apartment, piled high and unstably. And for the last two mornings, Hugo had slept through his alarm clock, and I'd had to wake him up. I cursed as my shin protested—he had a lamp in that box or something—and tripped over the box, stumbled towards the bed before I flopped down beside him and shoved Hugo over. "Gotowor'" I slurred tiredly. I hadn't gotten drunk the night before—I know, I was shocked too—I was just exhausted.

Having stupid Hugo around made me feel guilty about drinking, as much. Granted, I was going out tonight—he would not keep me from my life totally—but still, I felt just _weird_ about it, in the same way that I didn't curse around my parents or admit to spending time with Scorpius.

"Set alarm." He mumbled.

"Alarmboom, gotowor'" I ordered again, shoving his shoulder; he seemed to become a little more alert at this, his shoulder lifting from the bed slightly. I squinted open my eyes to see the Hugo was staring at his alarm clock, now, still mostly asleep.

"Woah." He said tiredly, his eyes wide.

"Wor' before I kill." I mumbled, dropping my head onto the pillow and closing my eyes again. The pillow was so soft. I owed a debt of gratitude to the man who created the pillow. I felt the bed shift and Hugo climbed over me, jumping from the bed to the floor. I heard a rustling sound and then the sound of tumbling boxes; I cracked open my eyes again as Hugo glanced at me sheepishly, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry." He said softly. I closed my eyes again, and there was another crashing sound; I opened my eyes to see Hugo now on the ground, two boxes in his lap hap-hazardly. I frowned a little at him, and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry." He repeated. I just groaned and turned my face into the pillow.

Why had I agreed to this again?

* * *

><p>"<em>Ciao, bella<em>." Théo's voice was low and husky in my ear as he hovered behind me at the bar of that night. I turned my face towards him ever so slightly, smiling a little. "This is a nice dress." He murmured, his hands resting lightly on my hips; I was wearing a silver, skin-tight strappy dress.

"I like it." I said, turning to face him, my lower back pressing against the bar, the coy smile playing at my lips. "Tell me what you like about it," my voice was soft, nearly a purr, and Celia, on my right, groaned, shoving Théo's shoulder so he got off of me.

"You're such a ho." She hissed in our general direction.

"I try." Théo and I responded in unison, and then I laughed softly, turning back to face the bar; Théo came up on my other side, so I was sandwiched between them.

We were out tonight together, as an oddity; Scorpius was busy with something his mum was making him do, so Théo had needed some kind of team to go out with. And once he'd gotten me on bored, I'd forced Celia to come along. I wasn't super close with Théo, even though we'd spent a fair amount of time together recently, and I hadn't wanted anything to get awkward.

"Three shots, please." I said to bartender, beaming at him; even under the low light and the pounding music, I could see his face flush a little. Oh, testosterone, the fun I have with you.

"Make mine whiskey, the ladies' vodka." Théo said to the man, a little aggressively; the bartender's gaze fell from Celia and me as he turned back to grab three glasses, and Celia leaned forward over the bar to look at Théo, raising her eyebrows. Théo met her gaze, grinning a little. Celia rolled her eyes; Théo wasn't exactly protective of us—because that would imply that he liked either of us enough to _protect_ us—but he did like to make boys go away. I was of the opinion that it was because he was mostly bored and enjoyed being the boy with two very pretty girls on his arm. And the fact of it was, half the time I walked in with Théo, I walked out with him, boyless.

"Rose?" I heard a voice behind me and a hand touch my hip; I turned around to see a boy _I knew_ I knew, somehow. Who was he? Blond hair, well-built, hazel eyes, maybe a quidditch player—oh, shit.

"Cedric." I said after a moment, smiling as big as I could, even though this was bad. Cedric Stern was one of the boys Jeremy had brought with him when we'd gone out, and on Jeremy's team. And then I'd ditched Jeremy—and Cedric, and the other boy they'd brought, Auggie—to bring Scorpius home. "What are _you_ doing here?" I laughed as I turned to face him properly. "I thought y'all didn't _go_ clubbing." The question was rhetorical, or at least a little bit; I'd only said it because I hadn't had any idea what else to say. Thankfully, Théo the Grumpy saved me from my self.

"What are you doing here?" Théo muttered, turning to face Cedric, his eyes narrowed.

"Hi, I'm Cedric Stern. I'm a beater for Tutshill." Cedric supplied, holding out a hand to shake. Théo eyed it distastefully for a moment before he looked to me. I raised an eyebrow, and Théo exhaled and, as if he were doing me some big favor, turned back to Cedric and shook his hand. Cedric chuckled after a moment, pulling back to look to me.

"This is Théo Zabini and Celia Goyle." I supplied, glancing at Celia; she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Ceric. Where Théo didn't like Cedric because Théo was oddly snobby for a kid who was on the outcast of pureblood society and Cedric wasn't from one of _the_ families, Celia just made it a policy to dislike people. "You sure know how to welcome a guy," I said sarcastically to Celia and Théo. Celia just watched him unrepentantly. Théo glared at me. I sighed.

"You run with an odd crowd there, Weasley." Cedric said to me, and I laughed, a little uncomfortable, even as I pushed my hair out of my face, careful to keep eye contact. Cedric offered a small smile, a little flushed, now. Celia and Théo were still looking grumpy, so I sighed.

"Since my friends can't be nice," I said, grinning, "Can I buy you a drink?"

"A gentleman doesn't let a lady buy him a drink." Cedric said, grinning a little himself, now. "A gentleman might _buy _a lady a drink, however…"

"A gentleman's already bought this lady a drink." Théo's voice was low. I stiffened, turning to look at Théo Zabini; the best friend of my non-friend—and that was _exactly _as close as Théo and I were—was glaring at Cedric, having taken a step forward from the bar, now. I glanced to Celia, who just raised her eyebrows at me; _whacha gonna do_? She wasn't shocked by Théo's behavior. I was. What the hell?

"I'm fairly sure a _gentleman_ doesn't buy a lady a shot." I said lightly, my eyes flicking back to Théo; he kept his gaze on Cedric, and now Cedric was watching him, frowning. Cedric squared off to Théo; I threw a panicked glance at Celia, and she sighed, turning away and surveying the room. She spotted a boy she liked, or maybe knew, and slipped into the crowd. Leaving me along with the boys.

Fuck her.

"How about a dance, then, Rosie? If Mr. Zabini is so defensive of your drinking habits—" Cedric asked, and there was an edge to his voice; Théo's hands opened and closed, and I glanced down at his fists before I exhaled, putting a hand on Théo's chest and stepping between the boys.

"_Brule en enfer_." Théo's voice was sharp and fast; my head spun with the words. Théo usually only used his impeccable French to impress girls. He hissed something else, now, too fast for me to even follow the syllables, and Cedric barked out a laugh; did he know French? Théo didn't move his gaze from Cedric, and, after a moment, Cedric just pulled away, ducking his head as he turned away, and I swallowed as I watched Cedric fade into the crowd.

And then I looked back to Théo.

"What was that?" I demanded, my voice as shocked as I was; I'd never been good at hiding my emotions. Even though I would have liked to, right now; I didn't understand what had just happened at all.

"I hate that guy." Théo grumbled, turning back to the bar; the bartender took that moment to deliver our shots, and Théo took the whiskey one, tilting his head back and taking the whole thing in one gulp. He put it down hard, and I stepped closer to Théo.

"What'd you say to him?" I asked softly.

"Does it matter?" Théo asked me, glancing back at me, and there was an odd look in his eyes; his shoulders were a little hunched, too. "Can we go home? Seeing Stern pissed me off." I swallowed.

"Sure, if you wanna go…" I murmured uncertainly; Théo shook his head pointedly.

"I'm not going without you." He said firmly; I blinked. _What? _Théo wasn't going back "home" (I knew that meant Scorpius's apartment to Théo) without me? We weren't even friends, and he'd just defended me to Cedric and was now refusing to leave without me.

"What's going on?" I said warily.

"Cedric Stern is _un salaud_." Théo said viciously; I didn't have to know the meaning of the word to know it was rude. The defensiveness of Théo earlier had freaked me out, and now he wasn't getting any better. Why did he care if I wanted to get a drink from Cedric? "How do you even know him?" Théo said derisively. "He's low even for your standards."

"I went out with him and Jeremy Braddock and Auggie Croft." I said after a moment, my voice soft. "The night that I brought Scorpius home. He's friends with Albus." I swallowed. "He's on the Tornadoes." The words seemed extra and superfluous; they weren't, though, and that was clear when Théo turned to me, his face twisting in disbelief.

"So just because someone's on a quidditch team, they're automatically vetted?" Théo demanded angrily, looking at me accusingly; I just stared wordlessly at him. "God, Rose, I thought you just played dumb, but maybe not." My name sounded like a curseword off his lips, and I felt a jolt of unhappiness at the words that followed it; being dumb was my 'dark creepiness' among other things. I was Hermione Granger's daughter; everyone expected me to be brilliant. And I wasn't. I'd gotten okay grades at school, and, upon graduating, I'd still yet to secure the kind of 'real' job that everyone expected me to. The thing was, I knew once I got a real job, I couldn't hide my stupidity anymore. Being club-hopping disaster Rose Weasley didn't require a brain; it didn't even require sobriety. I could hide my stupidity here, be a lost cause, full of wasted potential. The second I got a job, I'd be Hermione Granger's _stupid _daughter. And having people perceive me, wrongly, as wasted potential, was worse than having people really see me for what I was; moronic.

"Girls have to be careful. You can't just accept drinks from random boys." Théo's eyes were dark. "You'll get yourself hurt. I won't always be here."

"Why are you so worried about me?" I asked after a second. "We're not friends, Théo. And I think this is—noble, or something—" I shook my head—this was _Théo Zabini _I was accusing of being noble—"but it's not really—anything to you, if I get hurt." I swallowed. It was nothing to him—nothing to any of these kids, Théo, Scorpius, Celia—if I got hurt. I hadn't realized how scary those words before I'd thought them.

This was the problem with my isolationist policy. Because the fact of it was, as much fun as I had not answering to anyone, as many times as I'd left calls and letters unanswered, as many family functions I'd avoided, it meant that no one cared what I did, at the end of the day. It meant that if I'd gone home with Cedric, no one would ask any questions. No one would even blink. Not even Hugo—I'd told him, point-blank, that any night I went out, I'd be 'sleeping at a friend's house'. Such bullshit, but at least I was safe from his judgment. And the other consequence I hadn't considered until now; _if something happened, he wouldn't think to look for me._ That was a morbid thought, sure, but I was raised by an auror and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I was raised knowing that bad things happened; if no one went looking for you, then _worse_ things happened. And I had come out of that house and built a world where I not only was out late at night, drunk, taking drinks from mysterious boys, _but no one would ever look for me_.

Sometimes I stunned myself with how fucked up I was.

"This isn't about me, Rose." Théo's voice was low, and dragged me back to my spot beside him, at the bar.

"Whatever, Théo, can we just—" I shrugged; I didn't want to go home, but now I was so far from clubbing mood, and I would only get back to clubbing mood if Théo left, which he wasn't doing without me. "go?" I suggested, finally, my voice tired.

"Let's." Théo said curtly. I exhaled as Théo grabbed my arm and I closed my eyes, knowing he was going to violate the club rules and just disapparate; dizziness swamped me as lights flashed against my eyelids and pressure wrapped around me for an impossible short time, and then I was safely on the ground again. I opened my eyes; we'd landed in front of Scorpius's apartment building.

I led the way up the three steps to the front door, murmuring a simple unlocking charm at the door; this was a muggle building, after all, Scorpius just lived here. Théo followed me across the lobby, into the lift in silence. We didn't speak even as we got off the elevator, until we got right in front of Scorpius's door.

"How do you know Cedric would have done something?" I asked after a moment, turning to face Théo, my wand in my hand, at my side. "He's on my cousin's quidditch team; if he'd put something in my drink, it's not like I wouldn't remember him tomorrow, know who he was. My dad's an auror. I'm the stupidest girl for him to drug."

Théo frowned at me, back to his deadpan; the amount of emotion he'd expressed at the bar had been out of character, and I was glad we were done with that. "You're depending on the sound judgment of your potential rapist to save you?" He asked after a moment.

I blushed. "Cedric isn't a potential rapist." I muttered after a second. "I told you, he's friends with Albus."

"Friends of friends never drugged anyone?" Théo demanded. I felt frustration bubble; his argument wasn't wrong, but he was reducing my argument absurdly. Cedric was _on Al's quidditch team, dammit. _"Rose, this is stupid, you've made me angry—let me into Malfoy's apartment." He ordered, waving a hand at the door, and I narrowed my eyes; I had an advantage, here, because Théo didn't know the enchantments.

"Why do you care?" I repeated the words from the bar. "Because you _hate_ me, so you shouldn't care."

"I don't care about you." Théo said shortly. "Open the damned door, Rose."

"No." I said tartly. "And I know you don't care about me, I just can't come up with another feasible reason for you to care this much about _this_." I waved my hands in the air. I exhaled, having a thought. "Do you know Cedric from before tonight?" Théo stiffened, his nostrils flaring as he glared at me; I'd hit the nail on the head. "Okay." I said shortly. "Okay. You knew him before tonight—how?"

"Open the fucking door, Weasley." Théo snarled.

"Tell me what's going on and I will." I said reasonably. "You think Cedric might have done something—might have done something _to me_, even once you told him to piss off or whatever it was you said in French—"

"I assure you, _honey_, it was more than to piss off—"

"—had you left me there alone," I continued over Théo, raising my voice a little, "surely I get to know why the hell you _think that_?"

"_Open the fucking door_!" Théo roared.

"_Tell me what's going on!_" I cried stubbornly.

"_Pour le sortliége d'Émerillon!" _Théo exploded, slamming his fist against the door. "Malfoy, are you in there?" He hollered at the door. "Because if you leave me out here with Weasley for another second, there's going to be one less ginger on the planet—"

"You're going to wake up his—" the door swung open to a rather amused look Scorpius, his eyebrows raised mildly. He was only in his boxers—again? Did the boy _own _clothes?—and he smiled slightly.

"_Ouf_," Théo ground out as he flew inside, passing Scorpius. I stood in the doorway, beaming at Scorpius.

"Do you own clothing?" I asked him politely.

"Why are you tormenting my best friend?" Scorpius countered, equally courteously.

"Because he was being a grumpy pants and he wouldn't leave the club without me." I said, still beaming. I looked past Scorpius to where Théo was sitting on the couch, red-faced with anger. "Let me ask again, do you own clothes?" I finished, looking back to Scorpius. He chuckled, standing back a little, and I passed him, walking in. I kicked off my shoes two feet inside the door, putting my wand down on the little table by the door.

"Why," Scorpius began, passing me to cross to one of the armchairs, where he flopped down, his knees folded over the side; the way his living room worked was he had two couches facing each other, an armchair between them on the left, and on the right, a fireplace that was part of the wall shared with the kitchen, "would you refuse to leave the club without Weaselbee?" Scorpius asked.

Théo stared stonily up at Scorpius, who raised his eyebrows. "We ran into a friend of Albus's." I said after a second, crossing to the back of the couch facing Théo and putting my hands on the back, straightening my arms, so a little weight was lifted off my feet; my high heels left my feet in pain. "And apparently he and Théo don't play nice, though Théo isn't feeling too hot on details." Théo's stony gaze switched to me, where he glared. I beamed back at him. "Your face will get stuck like that, sugar." I told him faux-affectionately.

"Shocking, Théo didn't get along with someone." Scorpius muttered. "Does the bully from the sandbox have a name?" Théo exhaled.

"Cedric Stern was going to buy Rose a drink." Théo said shortly, his voice low. "Rose has met him once before, I'm fairly sure they exchanged all of a word and a half, because it took her a moment to remember his name." He exhaled. "Stranger danger."

"Can't just accept drinks from strangers, Rose." Scorpius's voice was quiet, now, and I glanced at him; his face was serious, now.

"Not a stranger!" I cried in a strangled voice. "Dear God, you two are worse than my parents—he's _on Albus's quidditch team_!" I hung my head.

"Are he and Albus actually _friends_?" Théo asked tightly. "Or just on the same team? Because a professional quidditch team is—including second and third stringers—what, thirty people?" I paused. Were they friends? I thought back to the twelve seconds I'd spent with both of them; had Albus said a word to Cedric? _No, but Jeremy was calling attention to himself_. Not speaking when there was nothing to say—in fact, when there was a conversation _already going on_—was normal behavior.

"See?" Scorpius's voice was still too quiet, that worried-quiet that Hugo sometimes got.

"So why was Celia allowed to remain alone in the club?" I asked after a moment. "Why am I escorted back to the apartment?"

"Because Celia barely allows you to buy her drinks, much less random boys." Théo said shortly. "Also Celia can hex a boy's ears to his ass, so I think she's in the clear."

"Oh, you haven't _seen _what I can do, baby." My voice dropped dangerously low, a husky tone slipping into it, and Scorpius raised his eyebrows, rolling his head back easily to look at me. And then I snickered, and Scorpius chuckled a little; even Théo rolled his eyes. "Guys," I said softly after a moment, "Seriously, for a moment—my parents taught me how to take care of myself. I'm not fresh out of Hogwarts, I don't need a babysitter." I smiled at Théo, who glared at me. "Tonight was noble, but I know how to take care of myself." Théo exhaled, looking to Scorpius, who stared back at him; fifteen silent communications flew between the boys, making my stomach twist in anxiety, before it was finally Scorpius who looked up, his gaze a little hooded.

"Yeah, but you _don't_." Scorpius murmured. I swallowed, hurt and disgust roiling around my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Scorpius Malfoy and Théo Zabini thought my lifestyle was too dangerous, too risky. I felt my eyes prickle—stupid tears. This always happened when I got angry or frustrated.

But these were the kids I'd chosen specifically for their lack of judgment.

And not only were they judging me—they were coming down hard. They were coming down hard in a way that only they could, because it was only them who actually knew what I did. This life I lived, which was backwards and against all the morals I'd grown up with and without any of the people I'd grown up with—they actually witnessed it. So the only people on the planet who got to judge me were Scorpius and Théo and Celia. And Celia didn't care enough to judge me, but Scorpius and Théo clearly did.

They'd broken the system. My whole universe operated on the idea that no one who knew what I did cared what I did, and anyone who cared what I did _didn't know what I do_. And When you combined those people—people who both knew and cared—the system began to crumble.

"This is really rich, coming from you." I said, my voice higher than I wanted it to be; Scorpius's face twisted unhappily as he spun to sit properly in his chair and look at me. "You are the exact same person I am, Malfoy—"

"Rose, woah." Scorpius held up his hands. "This is—"

"No, you are!" I protested. "And tonight I almost took a drink from a boy _who is on my goddamned cousin's goddamned quidditch team _so—so hell _no_ I didn't hesitate to take a drink from him!" I glared at Scorpius. "I'm not _stupid _for doing that, I'm not some new clubber who can't hold her alcohol or fend off creeps!" I threw my hands in the air, frustration making me see red. "_I may be bad at almost everything but I am the fucking best clubber we know!_"

Silence fell on us as Scorpius gaped up at me; I had yelled at him for the first time in a while. Scorpius's gaze was firmly on me even while Théo seemed to be considering my words; finally, the latter smiled slightly. "Your goddamned cousin's goddamned quidditch team?" Théo repeated, snickering; I grabbed a pillow on the couch below me, throwing it at him viciously; it hit him, hard, and he caught it against his chest, looking surprised. I hated it when people laughed when I was mad.

"_Fuck_ you." I muttered, even as my eyes burned with the frustrated tears again; Théo smirked.

"Please do." Théo countered. My eyes narrowed and I thought a hex, my fingers twitching a little without my wand, but it didn't matter; years of growing up among the Weasley cousins had left me with an affinity for hexes. Théo seemed to realize what I was doing, but too late—his hair was already thickening, lengthening, as were his eyebrows.

"Oh, Fuck—Weasley!" His voice was lethal as he sliced his wand in my direction; yellow magic left from his stick, and I extended my hand back towards my wand, where I'd put in on the little table beside the door; it reached my fingers in time for me to side-step the spell Théo had thrown out even as I shot a spell back at him. His wand flew from his fingers to my own, and I caught it out of the air easily, my eyes narrowed at Théo. My eyes were still burning, though, and I felt a tear spill over; embarrassment forced me back a step, then two, before I threw Théo's wand at him and turned away, grabbing my shoes in my hand as I went to the door, slipping out and slamming it, hard, behind me. I stopped in his doorway, my wand in one hand, my shoes in the other, my breathing hard. Stupid Scorpius and Théo. I didn't know where to go; I couldn't go home, practically crying, because Hugo was there, and I'd have to explain that when I'd said I was crashing at a friend's house, I'd meant Scorpius's house, _and_ that Scorpius had made me cry like a little girl. And Hugo would almost certainly tell our parents. Celia was still out.

And that was the end of my list. Théo, Scorpius, and Celia. Those were all of my 'friends.' God, I was pathetic.

With a final swipe with the back of my hand of my face, I forced myself to slip my feet into my fancy high heels. I'd walk home, I decided. With any luck, by the time I got there, Hugo would be asleep, and I would look less like I'd been crying.

Théo was such an asshole.

* * *

><p>"Daddy!" I called across the restaurant, a week later; my dad, his red hair beginning to gray at his temples, his lanky form a little rounder near his stomach, looked up from his menu. I waved, beaming.<p>

In the week since I'd walked out of Scorpius's apartment, I had neither spoken to him nor seen him or the rest of the gang. It was astounding how easy it was to just _stop. _It was, to be honest, a little disconcerting, part of that scary bit of the life I lived; no one ever _quite _knew me. No one was ever _quite _close enough to me to insist that we stop fighting; no one liked me enough, certainly, to apologize first just to end the argument. And Weasley family pride insisted I not give even an inch. Which meant we might hover in this argument ground forever.

But I really missed Scorpius. It was awkward—incredibly, terribly awkward—how much I missed him. Because I'd somehow let him farther in, I supposed, than I had meant to. That was what this aching feeling had to mean; I hadn't meant to give a shit about Scorpius because I knew he didn't give a shit about me. It was the same vice versa. _Except it wasn't_. Except, here I was, a week later, wishing I was in his apartment so I could whine about how Hugo no longer allowed me sleep and how my dad was surely going to ask about my employment status. But I couldn't. Because we hadn't spoken, because to speak to him would be to surrender to Théo.

The whole not-speaking-to-Scorpius thing had been prolonged by the fact that I hadn't even really had the chance to go out, too much. Stupid Hugo kept me waking up at seven or seven thirty with his inability to wake up with his alarm, and I'd gotten a modeling call, which I'd done for the last three days. I liked modeling, sort of; it was fairly easy, because I wasn't really competitive about it—or anything, for that matter—and from there it was just kind of _fun _and allowed me to take home lots of free clothes.

"Rosie!" Dad called back happily as he waved to me from the table he was sitting at; I grinned at him, crossing the restaurant easily as I hoisted my bag higher on my shoulder. I slipped between two tables, flashing a quick apologetic smile to a woman who I slipped behind before I reached my dad.

"Hey Daddy," I said, slipping an arm around him and hugging him; Dad hugged me back briefly, before he pulled back. I frowned at him as I spotted a bruise that slipped under the collar of his shirt. "What happened there?" I murmured.

"Please, your mother's already read me the riot act on being careful, etc." Dad said, wincing. I chuckled, my expression lightening, as Dad sank into his chair; I didn't miss his wince as he settled himself. Sometimes having a dad who Deputy Chief Auror was more nervous-making than anything else.

"Well someone has to make sure you don't kill yourself trying to get the bad guys." I said defensively as I sat down myself, dropping my bag to the ground beside my chair and exchanging it for the menu that lay across my plate. We were at a fairly nice place to lunch—I was sure my mum had picked it out, because Dad would eat anything anywhere and was not one to spend money on something as simple as lunch with his kid—and this was just a check in lunch. My dad liked to grab lunch with me once or twice a month, in addition to seeing me whenever he could wrangle. "You rarely have to drag yourself into the field these days, what's going on?"

Dad reached up to rub his nose, a nervous habit of his, and I raised my eyebrows at him over my menu. "Ahh, this might be from a wee bit of a mishap with Dory—" I bit out a laugh. Dory's full name was Nymphadora Dominque Lupin, and she was my cousin Victoire's baby girl with her husband, Teddy Lupin. Even at seven months old, she was fairly clearly more like her mother than her father; the blond hair and blue eyes of the veelas, and Victoire was part veela. Dory was also the _fattest baby I had ever seen_, so much so that it was hilarious to watch Victoire, who was slim and sort of petite, carry her.

"Did you lose a fight to a baby?" I asked my dad. "I think Uncle Harry should make you re-do auror training if that is the case—"

"I did not _lose a fight_ to a baby." Dad said, rolling his eyes. "Just—you know, she might have closed her crib latch-y things on me—" My laughter cut him off, and Dad chuckled a little himself.

"I might have to volunteer to babysit this kid." I said, grinning. "Once I'm done with my current modeling thing, I definitely will."

"I didn't realize you were doing another modeling thing." Dad said, raising his eyebrows. "Does that pay well? I have no idea how—" he waved a hand at me, "that sort of thing works." I shrugged; it did pay well, but only because I was also in the tabloids for other reasons, and I couldn't exactly explain that to my dad.

"Pays well enough." I said, shrugging, then I realized a nice segue away from me and my terrible, secret life; I smiled sympathetically. "Pays better than poor Hugo's job, though—that boy is there twelve, thirteen hours a day and comes home with a pittance—" I shook my head, and Dad nodded once, emphatically; he agreed. I'd switched deftly enough that he didn't even notice. "I might feel bad for him if I hadn't started keeping his hours…" I continued, rolling my eyes.

"How is living with him going?" Dad asked, and I heard a little laughter in his voice; I put the menu down to eye him. He wasn't properly laughing, but that was only because he had been my father long enough to know that when people laughed at me when I was trying to share a hardship, I got irritated.

"Don't laugh…" I groaned; he grinned. "It's…" I thought of adjectives—_sleepless, crowded, babysitting-like—_before I settled on several qualifiers. "Not sleep-conducive, but he's a sweet kid." Dad nodded, satisfied with that. I felt a surge of something—hurt, maybe, though that didn't seem right. I knew what it was; the same feeling flared every time I did this. Every time I answered easily rather than correctly; every time I optimized for conversation. Living with Hugo was a vicious hellscape of moving boxes and no more living space and no sleeping. But I'd basically said it was alright. Because that was easier, and I knew that was what Dad wanted. The bad feeling scraped at my chest again and I rolled my shoulders. I hated this.

I heard a phone ring and Dad groaned, reaching for his belt, where he pulled an ancient-looking flip phone from his pocket and frowned at it distressedly. "I can't make the damned thing work and your mother insists on calling me on it…" I laughed as he flipped it open and held it hesitantly to his face, upside down. "HELLO, HERMIONE." He shouted into the phone; I winced, running a hand through my hair. "HERMIONE? ARE YOU THERE? I CAN'T HEAR YOU…HER-MY-OWN-NEE."

"Perhaps take it outside?" I suggested embarrassedly; he pushed himself up distractedly, his chair pushing back as he stumbled away from it, towards the door to the restaurant.

"NO, HER-MY-OWN-NEE. LIKE—WELL, LIKE NOTHING, I DON'T KNOW ANYONE ELSE NAMED HERMIONE BUT—_NO_—YOU HAVE A WRONG—" Dad stepped outside and I chuckled as I reached for my water, taking a sip as the woman at the table beside ours looked at me judgmentally. I grinned at her.

"Twenty five years into my parents' marriage, you'd think he would have the whole _phone_ thing down, wouldn't you?" I asked conversationally, and she sniffed at me, turning away. I chuckled, not missing the fact that she had absolutely recognized my dad and I and was thoroughly displeased with our presence here. Before I could figure out my next step, I heard a voice behind me.

"Cause trouble wherever you go, don't you?" A now-familiar voice asked behind me, and I turned to see Cedric Stern standing a few stables behind me, grinning; I grinned back at him, smothering my surprise.

"Hey!" I said cheerfully, pushing myself to my feet as he stepped up beside us; I hugged him lightly with one arm, kissing his cheek before I pulled away, smiling that particular smile at him; what was he doing here? "Are you stalking me?" I asked, only half-kiddingly, as he stood beside me.

"I wish." Cedric replied, rolling his eyes as he stepped up to the side of the table. "And please, sit, sit—" I did, crossing my legs, "I have a meeting with my agent and I am…" He looked at his watch, "almost twenty minutes early, awesome." I laughed. "What are you doing here?"

"Having lunch with my dad." I said, waving vaguely towards the open door to the restaurant. "He got a call, had to step outside." I shrugged.

"That sounds fun." He said dryly.

"Oh, it's thrilling." I agreed, smiling. "I keep waiting for him to broach the _why don't you have a serious job_ question." I rolled my eyes. "Since we've already hit modeling and how Hugo lives with me, I'm sure we'll get there eventually." Cedric laughed quietly, and we lapsed into a moment of awkward silence, because I had run out of things to say. I didn't particularly want to talk about what had happened in that bar because it'd already been several days of agony for me, trying to think who went wrong where. But I hated awkward silences more. "So." I said after a moment, broaching the only subject left. "You and Théo?"

"Oh, Merlin…" Cedric muttered, his face flushing. "About that, Ro—I'm so sorry, I don't even know what happened. Yeah, I'm not a big fan of Théo but that doesn't excuse—and I didn't mean for it to get out of hand like that, I didn't realize you two were dating." He exhaled. "And then when that became clear, I didn't—behave well, because Théo's got that blood bias thing going on and I have simply no patience for that." Cedric studied me. "I'm surprised, frankly, that you do, being a Weasley and all."

I pulled a face. "I'm not dating Théo." I said, reaching up and touching my hair; I wasn't sure how to address the second half of that. I _didn't_ have patience for blood bias because it was ridiculous and my parents had suffered to make sure that it was illegal, but I hated the implication that my name meant that I was or believed anything. Also, I was fairly sure that Théo's whole issue with Cedric had very little to do with blood bias because Théo hovered in the odd half-land in being the illegitimate son of Blaise Zabini and his not-pureblood French lover.

"You're not?" Cedric asked, frowning.

"I don't…" I paused. _I don't date_. I didn't want to confess to this nice boy on my cousin's quidditch team that I was a slut, even though I was sure he already knew. "No." I said after a moment, softer.

"That's good." Cedric said, smiling a little, and I smiled a little back at him.

"It's good?" I asked, grinning. "Why, praytell, is it good?"

"Well, hopefully it means that you're single…" His voice trailed off and I nodded, smiling a little, "and maybe I can take you out to dinner tomorrow night."

The request forced me into silence as I gazed up at the light-haired, hazel-eyed boy. He had just asked me out to dinner—a real date, the kind of real date that I had not been asked on in some time. In fact, I had not been asked out on a real date since I'd stop real-dating part-way through my seventh year at Hogwarts. I had stopped because I was a bad girlfriend—I couldn't stay faithful, and even if I did manage not to actually _hook up_ with someone, I would still screw it up some other way. And then I'd fallen in with Scorpius and Celia and now Théo was around; we didn't _date_. We clubbed, we slept around. _No dating_.

But maybe I could try it? Maybe I could throw this to my mother as evidence of my maturity; an attempt at some kind of real relationship. I still didn't have a job, sure, but I _did_ have a boyfriend. A boyfriends who played quidditch with Albus, no less.

"Uh." I said eloquently, then I blushed; I was so flustered by this question. "Sure, Cedric, I'd love to grab dinner with you." I finally managed to get out.

"Tomorrow at eight?" Cedric asked. "I'll pick you up?" I nodded, blinking; is that what boys did? They picked girls up? That was so…old-fashioned. _Maybe not_. The mean voice in my head murmured. _Maybe this is just what all the normal girls do_. I swallowed against the self-loathing that coated my throat, but it didn't abate; I wasn't normal. I didn't deserve a date; more than that, I was going to drag Cedric down my dark hole of alcohol _with _me, unless I turned him down. I opened my mouth to decline as I saw movement behind Cedric and swallowed my words; Dad was coming back inside the restaurant. More important, even, than saving Cedric from me was keeping Dad in the dark about my love life. Which meant I had to end this conversation fast—and fast meant I could only accept. Blargh.

"Sounds nice—just owl me where we're going so I'll know what to wear—" I said, a little rushed, as I looked back to Cedric. "My dad's coming back and he is not the sort of guy who's super excited when his daughter gets asked out, so—can you just—" I sort of shooed at Cedric with my hands and he chuckled, ducking forward to kiss my cheek before he pulled away and stepped back towards the hostess who looked up at him, slightly annoyed; he'd passed her the first time without being seated. Dad passed him with a suspicious glance, and I winced as Dad looked accusingly up at me; he'd seen the cheek kiss. I'd even tried to get Cedric away first; things were not going my way today.

"Who was that, Rosie?" Dad asked unhappily as he stepped back beside the table, slipping around and over to his chair, where he practically collapsed. I exhaled as I sank into my own seat carefully, wondering how to stall this.

"One of Al's teammates." I said after a moment; I wasn't lying, not exactly. Still, guilt swirled in my lungs: stupid morals. Scorpius never had any qualms about lying to his parents. But I wasn't Scorpius, so I forced myself to say the next sentence: "He asked me out on a date." I reached up, grabbing my napkin and slipping it back onto my lap, letting my fingers twist in it anxiously. _Don't ask questions. _I urged my father silently. _You don't want the answers._

"Oh." Dad frowned at me, a little perplexed for a moment. _No questions. No questions. No questions. _I had wrinkled the napkin badly within seconds of it landing on my lap; I forced myself to release it, frowning down at it, before Dad finally spoke. "What position?"

I chuckled relievedly; Dad _would_ focus on quidditch. "Beater." I supplied.

"Good position, though I'm more partial to keepers myself…" Dad murmured, flashing me a weak grin; I grinned back, deciding not to mention that I'd gone out with the keeper of the Tornadoes a week and a half ago. Dad was only talking about positions because he didn't like the idea of me dating; he would like the news that I 'dated' (not that you could call it dating because they were really just one-night stands) a lot even less.

_Some things_, I decided as I glanced towards where Cedric was apologizing to the hostess of the restaurant, still, _are better kept to myself_. My one-night stands. My failed night with Jeremy. My friendship with Scorpius, and, I supposed, Théo and Celia. My date with Cedric.

I needed a damned secretary to keep all of this straight.


	6. Poker Face

Poker Face

_I wanna roll with him, a hard pair we will be,_  
><em>A little gambling is fun when you're with me (I love it);<em>  
><em>Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun<em>  
><em>And baby when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun.<em>  
>-Lady Gaga<p>

_I shouldn't have said yes to this date_.

That was my only thought the next night as I stood in front of my mirror, staring at my reflection. I'd curled my hair enough so I had the beachy waves that I sometimes got from going in the ocean; my eyelashes were long and dark and twirled perfectly. Blue, shiny eyeliner traced both eyes; the sweet, dark blue cotton dress with the light brown belt I'd bought looked charming but had enough of a low-cut top half that he would see a little cleavage. And, because I thought Cedric might get intimidated, didn't have a designer label, or a designer price tag.

I had put a lot of work into tonight.

My flats were the same brown my belt was. My purse was from a nice arty boutique in Paris; I was wearing a simple necklace my mother had given me. I knew what Cedric was looking for on this date, or I thought I did: the _real _Rose Weasley, the one he thought existed behind the shiny magazine covers. Nice boys—the kind who called their mothers, the kind who held doors open—always wanted that version of me. Which, of course, I couldn't give him. Because the _real _Rose Weasley didn't really exist; all I was were those magazine covers and paparazzi photos. But I had a formulated version of her that I could hand him, so that was taken care of.

Yet, the soulless blue eyes stared at the mirror unhappily.

I wasn't worried about the actual _date_. I could chat anyone to hell and back. I could flirt better than most; I was _certainly _good at the _after_ of the date, the part behind the closed doors with the husky voices and the things I would skip telling my mother about. If that happened, I had enough experience sneaking out that chances were, Cedric would never see me the next morning. I already knew who I was playing at being that night, which version of Rose Weasley to hand him.

"So why am I nervous?" I asked my reflection aloud, frowning at myself tiredly.

"Because you're the kind of crazy person who talks to herself?" Scorpius Malfoy's voice was amused behind me, and I blinked, before I spun around, my eyes wide and focusing on the blond boy poking his head around my bedroom door.

Scorpius Malfoy was in my apartment.

I hadn't spoken to him in a week and a bit _and he was in my apartment. _Hugo was supposed to be home soon and _Scorpius was in my apartment_. I stared at him. "You should really knock." I said after a moment, but I offered him an uncertain smile. "How'd you get in?" I murmured, studying him

"Door wasn't locked." Scorpius said with a shrug, and I blinked, then rolled my eyes; Hugo. "You really should lock your door. I'm sure Papa Weasel taught the little weasels that."

"Papa Weasel did teach this little weasel that." I corrected, leaning back against the dresser. "Hugo, somehow, got away with less knowledge." I grinned at my only friend. "But I assume you're not here to talk about my family, as much fun as we have with each other's families…"

Scorpius's slightly predatory smile flicked across his face as he crossed the room to me, his hands finding my hips easily; in a heartbeat, he was flush against me, my back against my dresser uncomfortably. I didn't move an inch as Scorpius's head moved beside mine, his mouth a centimeter from my ear. I let a coy smile curl on my lips, because this was just the game Scorpius and I played—we got too close to each other, pushed all the boundaries we saw. The hard part of the game was I still didn't quite understand how to _win._ "You look quite respectable, Weasley." He breathed, his breath hot on my neck. "I'm rather disappointed."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, big boy." I murmured, as he moved his head back a little; my eyes narrowed a degree as I studied his face, the slight curve of my lips, painted red, still in place. "But don't fret. The girl _beneath_ the clothes is the same." I let my chest expand a little, pushing my bust out a bit, and my dress, in turn, strained against the pressure; Scorpius's gaze slid down for a moment before he dragged it back to my face. I smiled.

_I win._

He pulled away, and I chuckled, looking to the side as I took a half-step forward, away from my dresser. Cold air filled the space between us. "You are far too good at this." Scorpius told me; I lifted my blue eyes to him, then grinned. "But why have you hung up the sequins for tonight?" Scorpius asked, his voice husky. "As much as I..." his gaze swept downwards again in one movement, before landing on my eyes again, "_appreciate _the neckline, this is still rather, well, _modest_."

I felt a twinge of something—I was about to ruin our game. "I have a date tonight." I admitted, after a moment, my voice soft. Irritation tightened Scorpius's jaw, forehead, and I remained still.

"Whom?" Scorpius asked after a moment, his voice low and not at all amused. I considered a lie, a fib, some kind of bullshit blow-off. But this was Scorpius.

"Cedric Stern." I confessed after a moment.

"Rose." Scorpius's voice was serious, suddenly, all the innuendo gone. _Dammit._

"I know, I know—" I said hurriedly, stepping towards him; he remained so stonily-still, though, that I stopped, feeling burned. I never knew what to do with Scorpius and his dark expressions and his eternal stillness. No one else I knew was like this. "I know." I repeated softly, after another moment; what else was there to say? But he didn't speak, so I pushed on, filling the silence desperately. "But he asked me out and he couldn't meet my dad, who was at the restaurant at the time, and I wasn't sure—how to turn him down." I stared at Scorpius. "I don't say no a lot." I said, offering a half of a weak smile; Scorpius's nostrils flared. "I'm not good at it."

"Classy." He murmured; I straightened up defensively.

"What could I have said?" I demanded, keeping my voice low. "My friends gave me a very nonspecific warning about you? Théo called you something in French that surely would have made my mother's hair curl?" I crossed my arms across my chest. "Besides, you're supposed to be here, _apologizing for being rude._ And now you are once more being rude."

"I didn't come here to apologize." Scorpius said irritatedly. "I don't _apologize._"

"Why are you here, then?" I snapped, frowning. "If I'm too _déclassé _for you, I mean."

"I have no fucking idea." He shot back angrily, his grey eyes flashing dangerously. We fell into an unhappy silence, and I stared at Scorpius. I really liked Scorpius. He was the reason I tolerated Théo; he was the reason Celia allowed me in her presence. He was my only friend, because I understood him more than I did most people. And the reason for that was no great insight, but instead a simple fact; we were the same person. We were both more good than bad (I hoped). We both hid our lives from our parents; we both failed at that, sometimes. We both were in this downward spiral of unhappy drunkenness that neither of us seemed to be able to pull out of. We both were avoiding that ultimate terror—growing up, becoming independent—like the plague.

But this similarity made our arguments epic, cruel, ruthless.

"Okay." I said after a moment, looking down at my shoes. "Then leave." _Please don't_.

"I can't if you're going to go out with Cedric." Scorpius murmured flatly; my head shot up to meet his eyes again. He sank onto my bed tiredly. Scorpius was not—this boy. He did not try to help girls; he did not much like me, even though I was fairly sure I was his only friend, aside from Théo. So what was making him do this?

"Do you know Cedric?" I asked him after a second. He nodded once, and I exhaled. Oh. "Do you know a girl who went out with Cedric?" He stared at me stonily. "Oh." I looked at him. "Did he…" I swallowed. I wasn't sure how to ask this question, because I wasn't sure what Scorpius was warning me against. Did he think Cedric would _hurt _me? Or was he just a player? "I need you to elaborate." I said after a moment.

"I can't." Scorpius murmured. I pressed my lips together, weighing my options here, before I sighed.

"Then I can't cancel…" I glanced at the clock, "a minute and a half before he's supposed to turn up." I looked at Scorpius seriously. Scorpius just exhaled.

"Just say you got sick." He muttered.

"That's a lie." I mumbled.

"Correct." Scorpius said. "We're also not at Hogwarts, so Longbottom can't give you detention, so it doesn't matter."

"I don't lie." I told Scorpius. _I don't lie much, anyway._

"You sleep around, you get drunk daily—you don't _lie_?" Scorpius clarified. I flushed.

"Oh, fuck off." I muttered. The doorbell rang, and I looked to Scorpius, grabbing my purse, lifting the long, thin shoulder strap onto my shoulder. "I'm going on this date unless you can tell me what your issue with Cedric is. I can't cancel on a boy just because you dislike him." Scorpius didn't say anything, and I sighed. I ducked out of my bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind me. I knew Scorpius would let himself out. As I started towards my front door, I pushed all thoughts of Scorpius from my mind.

If Cedric was a bad guy, I would figure that out for myself.

* * *

><p>"So." I said as I eyed Cedric over my half-eaten plate of mussels; Cedric snickered as he lifted his wine—he'd ordered <em>wine, <em>the classy boy_—_to his lips. The boy had brought me to a small but lovely seafood restaurant in London, and we were still trading stats. Thusfar, I'd learned he'd grown up in Gateshead, his parents had divorced three years ago, he had wanted to be a quidditch player since he was four, and he had seven (SEVEN) siblings. I was still digesting that fact. "You're trying to tell me that you are one of _eight_ kids?"

"I am indeed trying to tell you that." Cedric agreed as he put down his wine.

"That's horrifying." I said after a moment; Cedric laughed, and I shook my head. "But actually, that is absolutely horrifying. Your mother must be—some sort of—I don't even know."

"My mother is a dragon lady." Cedric agreed, nodding seriously.

"I am wildly impressed by her." I said firmly.

"So am I, I mean…" He shook his head. "Three boys, Five girls, ten years." I gaped at him.

"Five girls?" I demanded, scandalized.

"Mildred, Vivan, Nicole, Amanda and Betsy." He countered. "Growing up with five sisters is enough to kill a man, I'm telling you. Nolan, Archie and I spent copious amounts of time hiding in our bedroom." He shook his head; I laughed, pushing my hair out of my face and tilting my head to the side as I carefully held Cedric's gaze, smiling still. "Sorry." Cedric said after a moment, flushing. "I didn't mean to talk about my family this much."

"Don't even worry about it." I told him easily, waving a hand at him; a busboy hesitated beside our table, glancing at my dish, which I hadn't touched in a few minutes, I pulled my arms away from the table, turning my smile to him. "All done." I said to him; he took it with a brief smile. "Thanks." I murmured, before I looked back to Cedric; I waited for the busboy to life his plate before I continued. "So. Big family. Lots of sisters." I grinned at him. "We already hit your job. So, who's your best friend?" I asked after a beat.

"Auggie Croft, who I think you met…" I nodded, "or this guy, Evan Merring, who lives near me back home." He said, shrugging a little, before he smiled sheepishly. "I have some trouble keeping up with people not on the team." His eyes widened slightly for emphasis. "You would _not_ believe how busy it is."

"I might." I said, laughing a little. "My cousin's on your team, remember? Al's barely ever home anymore, his girlfriend Molly is a friend of mine—she's about ready to murder to the boy." I lifted my water to my lips as I couldn't help but think that this was maybe not such a great conversation topic for Cedric to bring up with me, the girl who I assumed he was planning on making his _girlfriend_.

"Enough about me." Cedric said, smiling at me across the table. "Who's your closest friend?" I put my water down, raising my eyebrows at Cedric appraisingly. He didn't really want the answer to this question. But I didn't really want to go on a second date, so I was going to answer him honestly.

"Scorpius, Théo and Celia." I admitted after a moment, my voice a little amused. Cedric winced, looking away. "Yep. They're not thrilled I'm here."

"Why is Rose Weasley the best friend of Scorpius Malfoy, Théo Zabini and Celia Goyle?" Cedric asked perplexedly; I felt my spine stiffen even as I kept the smile in place. But Cedric had made a crucial misstep, and while I hadn't _wanted_ there to be a second date a moment ago, now there would _not_ be a second date.

"My parents fought in the war for equality, not muggle-born superiority." I said quietly, still smiling a little, but it didn't matter; Cedric could tell now, from my tone and my words, that I wasn't pleased. He shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, and I kept my gaze on him. "Why _shouldn't_ I be friends with them?"

"I didn't mean it like that." Cedric said after a moment, sheepishly; I looked down at my glass of water. "I just meant that Théo's the second coming of Grindelwald, Celia's fairly pointedly purist, and Scorpius isn't exactly a bowl of sugar himself." He exhaled as I raised my eyebrows, still looking down at my water.

"They're my friends." I said after a moment, looking up at him irritatedly. He winced. I pressed my lips together. "I'm going to go, Cedric. I had a nice time, thanks for dinner—" I stood up carefully.

"I didn't mean it like that." Cedric repeated the words; they still sounded stupid. I grabbed the glass of vodka and cranberry juice I'd ordered and avoided all night; I tilted my head back, gulping the whole glass in one go. I put the glass down heavily and smiled angrily at Cedric. "Alkie." I heard him murmur, turning his head away.

I stared at him. "You're the idiot who just pissed off the girl who has the ear of every gossip magazine in this country." I hissed; he stared up at me, and I turned my back on him, stalking towards the exit to the restaurant. I would never make good on that threat; I'd already been down that road with Molly Gale, my fifth year. And I knew that ended worse for me than it ever could for him.

I stepped out of the restaurant, my flats slipping over the cobblestone; I cursed, pausing the door jam as I got just outside the door and, without pause, I disapparated. A whirl of color and sound later, I was standing in Scorpius's lobby.

Instantly, I felt a searing pain in my side—right above where my ribs ended, and I almost dropped to my knees with the force of it. The pain made it hard to see, hear, breathe, and I wondered, for a moment, if someone had cursed me. Then I realized. _I'd been splinched_. I'd guzzled that cranberry and vodka seconds before I'd left. _And gotten fucking splinched_.

Warmth met my hands as I reached for it, my purse dropping from my fingers as I looked down; blood. _Ew._ The sight of blood always made me light-headed, itchy, panicked. _Ahhh._ I stumbled towards Scorpius's elevator, leaving my purse on the floor of the lobby; dizzily, I tried to remember to tell Scorpius to retrieve it.

I needed to go to St. Mungo's.

I pressed the buttons on the elevator and was alarmed at the blood that smeared there; I blinked at it unhappily as the elevator shot up, unsure if muttering a cleaning spell would mess with the electricity that powered the elevator. It opened on the third floor and I forced myself from the wall, stumbling down the hall and to his door. I breathed the six spells that would unlock his door before it swung open, and then I leaned against his door jam; Scorpius, in a nice suit that told me he had just come back from somewhere, and Théo, shirtless and with pajama pants on, looked up from where they'd been standing, between the couches.

"I think I need a healer." I mumbled, looking down at my hands as I pulled them from my side; blood had colored them red, staining my dress even darker. Nausea rolled in my stomach as I looked down the blood; I knew the queasiness had nothing to do with the splinch and had everything to do with the fact that blood made me nauseous. I really hated blood.

"Mother of Merlin—" Théo mumbled, gaping at me; Scorpius slipped around his couch and crossed the space between us in a heartbeat, grabbing my hands and pulling them away from the wound, ducking a little in front of me to inspect the bloodied fabric.

"What happened?" He asked tightly, frowning at the unmarred dress. "Did he—"

"He was mean to you and called me an alcoholic, so I left." I sounded like a child, upset, my voice too high, but my side really hurt and I really hated blood. "And I came here, because I didn't know where else to go, and now I'm splinched." I met Théo's gaze over Scorpius's crouched form. "I'm splinched." I repeated softly. He stared at me, all malice gone from his face, for once.

"She needs to go to St. Mungo's." Théo murmured; I felt my head spin, and I sagged heavier against the doorjam, alerting Scorpius. He straightened up immediately, his hands on my hips again, like they always were. I'd never thought about it before this moment—and this probably wasn't exactly the appropriate moment to start, with me bleeding copiously in his apartment—but Scorpius and I were more than a little too touchy feely.

"Can you walk to the fire place?" Scorpius asked me; I looked up at him, and the dizziness swept my vision away; it took a few moments of blinking for the colorless dots to seep away; Scorpius winced as I never got to answering his question. "Fuck." He murmured, reaching up to push my hair out from where it fell in my face as my head leaned heavily against the doorjam. "Okay, Rosie, can you put your arms around my neck?" I followed his instruction with one arm, the one opposite my wound, and then tried with the other; I cried out, letting my arm drop as I did. That had _hurt._ "Alright, alright, it's okay—" His hand on the hip on my left side slid on my back and then to my other side, pulling my wounded side against him, even as my knees buckled; he swept his arm under my knees and pulled me up, and I made an unhappy noise, my hand fisting in the fabric of my dress, to the right of the wound. Scorpius hissed in sympathy, and I turned my face into his jacket, squeezing my eyes shut. _Ow_.

Suddenly something occurred to me. "I dropped my purse in the lobby." I mumbled.

"Who cares about your bloody purse?" Scorpius said, his voice strained; all the same, I heard vague orders above me to Théo to retrieve my purse. Suddenly, in his arms, I was barely conscious—the world above me, when I opened my eyes, swirled confusingly. I closed my eyes again, tiredly, and I felt him—us—moving, fast, panicked, and the tickling warmth of the floo followed by another rush of dizziness, and this time, the dizziness got heavier and heavier until I felt my grip on him slack. I was so tired. "Rose." Scorpius snapped, somewhere above me; I couldn't, or didn't, respond. "She needs a healer, _now_." I heard him said harshly to someone.

There was a sudden swirl of noise and I felt myself sink a little farther; questions were fired in rapid succession, but I could only hear that from their tone, rather than the actual words, which I couldn't discern. Cool air touched the wound on my side, suddenly—someone had opened my dress. I wondered, vaguely, somewhere, whether they had made Scorpius and Théo—was he here yet?—leave the room before they'd opened my dress. Warmth sank into my side and pressure—someone was pressing something, probably gauze, to my side, and some of the dizziness that had been threatening to take me seeped back.

"Her name is Rose Weasley." I heard Scorpius provide, his voice tight.

"And she's probably had something to drink." Théo's voice was gravelly but present; had I been less completely gone, I would have laughed a little at the sentence. It was always safe to assume that.

"This is a Weasley? Call Wes Finnigan—"

"Don't—" I mumbled, turning my head towards where I had heard Scorpius and Théo as I forced my eyes open a bit; that was too bad an idea for me to just lie here. If someone called Wes, he would call my parents, and they would come running. And Scorpius and Théo had brought me in, were still here—Mum and Dad would see them.

"Rose!" Scorpius was beside the healer on my right in a heartbeat, smoothing my hair back tenderly; I felt uncertainty swirl, somewhere, because this was not how Scorpius behaved, and yet here he was, behaving like this. But I had to focus. _Focus. No Wes._

"Don't call Wes." I mumbled; Scorpius nodded fervently.

"Won't." He promised. There was a pinch and then a terrible, painful feeling on my side; I squeezed my eyes shut before a cooling prickly feeling spreading over my abdomen; the pain ebbed back a little. My dizziness fell back another few steps; consciousness was winning this war. But still: _ow_. Scorpius's hand found mine, and I squeezed it tightly. _What were we doing_?

"Wes Finnigan specifically has listed himself as one of the contacts on Rose Weasley, and since he's a healer here—" A healer at the end of my bed said seriously, a clipboard in her hands; she was looking over where she had folded up one of the papers, giving Scorpius a judgmental look.

"Rose said no." Scorpius said darkly; the angry voice I knew so well comforted me. This was, at least, a version of Scorpius I knew.

"Besides—you already stopped the bleeding, you don't need another healer here." Théo said reasonably. Théo was being the reasonable one, here. This was bad.

"Aren't they family?" the healer countered. I winced.

"Do not call Wes." I said as loudly as I could, wincing as my lungs protested; I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, and I felt Scorpius's hand, still around mine, tighten slightly.

"But—"

"Call for him and I'll make sure you're fired by dawn, clear?" Scorpius's voice was fast and sharp. Théo made a half-amused noise. The healer stopped talking, putting down the clipboard on the table at the end of my bed and stepping gingerly back from it; either she had recognized Scorpius to realize that he was the son of the chairwoman of the board of trustees of St. Mungo's, or she'd just become convinced that no matter his last name, Scorpius would personally gut the lady if she called Wes. Scorpius looked back down to me, and I cracked a half a smile at him. His jaw locked stressedly, the hand not holding mine smoothing back my hair again.

"Alright, guys, go help the next incoming patient—I've got her." Another healer said, somewhere out of my field of vision; a moment later, he moved into it, even as his compatriots slipped around a curtain that had been drawn around my cot at some point. "Miss Weasley," The blond man said as he looked down at me seriously. "You were splinched, and we've closed the wound. Can I ask you some questions now that you're a little more with us?" I nodded once, and Mr. Healer Man looked up at Scorpius and Théo. "Could you two leave us alone?"

"No." Scorpius said seriously, his gaze dark on the healer.

"They can stay." I interjected softly; the healer looked down at me questioningly, and I just blinked at her tiredly.

"Alright." He said after a moment, clearly unsure of whether I was fit enough to make this decision. "Is there any chance you're pregnant?"

"No." I said softly; I would have blushed if I hadn't been so blood depleted. Maybe I should have ejected Scorpius and Théo.

"Did you have anything to drink tonight?"

"One drink." I murmured.

"Have any relatives ever been splinched?" He asked.

"Dad." I murmured. He nodded.

"Is that important?" Scorpius asked quietly. The Healer looked up at him, his face a little more irritated, now.

"Getting splinched once raises your chances of being splinched again—and having a parent who was splinched before your birth raises your chance of being splinched." He said stiffly to Scorpius. He looked back down to me. "Rose, once I bandage this, I'm going to need you to sit up." He continued. "So you can take a few potions." Scorpius's hand in mine tightened as I felt gauze laid over the spot that I wasn't even sure was badly cut anymore. Tape stuck to the side of my chest, and then the healer's face slipped into my field of vision, which swam a little as pain made my head funny. If everyone would just stop _poking_ the damn thing. "Sit up." He said firmly. I put my hands on either side of my hips, swallowing hard as I pushed myself up painfully, the blood rushing from my head twisting things around me; Scorpius's hand slid to my back and pushed me the last few inches. I leaned against him heavily, and his hand moved from the middle of my back to my other shoulder as he half-sat on my bed beside me, his arm around my shoulders, more to keep me upright than anything else.

"How long does she have to be up like this?" Scorpius said harshly to the healer, his arm around me tightening. I looked up at him dazedly; I wasn't sure if that was blood loss, or the vodka and cranberry juice I'd guzzled finally hitting my system. Or maybe just the fact that this was _so_ Twilight Zone—Scorpius was being protective, was touching me in a nonsexual way, hadn't said anything laden with innuendo since I'd stumbled into his apartment. What was going on? "She's in pain." Scorpius wasn't wrong—my side ached something terrible—but why was he behaving so well?

"Just long enough to take a few potions and pills." The healer responded, his voice gentle; I thought I heard a concealed edge, but I wasn't sure. The Healer offered me a glass of some vile looking purple liquid.

"What is this…?" I murmured.

"Blood replenishing potion." The healer told me firmly. "Then we'll get you set up in your own room over night and give you a dreamless sleep draught—" I let the bottom of the bottle rest against my thigh as I stared at the healer, shaking my head once before I realized how dizzy the movement made me.

"No." Scorpius and I said simultaneously. "Not overnight." I added after a moment, my eyes wary on the man. Wes might wander past my room, or Mrs. Malfoy might, or _anyone_. For all I knew, someone from the auror department was here right now and my _dad_ was somewhere in the building; I couldn't take that risk.

"Rose—" the healer began, looking to me, only to be cut off by Théo.

"You're not going to convince either of them." Théo murmured to the man, stepping up beside Scorpius; Scorp relaxed as he did, his arm around me loosening slightly, the hand that was still in mine not quite so tense, anymore. "He," Théo tilted his head towards Scorpius, "is a stubborn bastard, and she's had a rough ten minutes and is hardly cooperative on her best days…" He offered the man a wan smile. "If I were you, I'd just listen to them."

"She splinched herself, badly." The man countered, his eyes narrowing first on Théo, then flicking to Scorpius. "I cannot in good conscience let her leave the hospital." His lips tightened unhappily. "And I couldn't let her go home with two _frat_ boys to have them damage her recovery."

"They're not frat boys." I interjected, frowning at him even as I pressed a hand to my side, letting the bottle with the potion rest on the bed; my side protested every time I spoke louder, my lungs protesting at having to drag in breath a little harder than usual. "And surely you can't just keep me here if I don't want to be here."

"Your parents would surely object to this." The healer said irritatedly.

"They would also object to who brought me in, you understand." I said after a moment, my voice soft.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have been with them." He countered. I stared at him.

"I'm drinking this and then leaving." I said after a moment, reaching for the potion again. My eyes flicked over his uniform, and the small pin with his name on it over his left breast pocket; Chief Healer Dennis Creevy.

Oh. Dennis Creevy was friends with my uncle Harry, and had treated James's fiancée Sera and her brother Wes pro-bono when they'd come in with all their injuries and been unable to pay for them due to the whole parents-kidnapped situation, the year before I'd started Hogwarts. He had a son, Colin, who I'd dated for a moment at Hogwarts, but I didn't think that was the problem. I was fairly sure the problem was that the first Colin Creevy had been Dennis's older brother and had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts.

And I, Rose Weasley, had been brought in by the sons of two former death eaters.

I stared at him wordlessly, frozen, now, my hand closed around the bottle that still rested unsteadily on my bed. Mr. Creevy held my gaze tightly. He knew I'd caught on. Oh, jeez.

"Please don't tell Uncle Harry." I said after a moment, my voice soft; Mr. Creevy took a step back, and my hand shot out to grab his forearm, my eyes serious on him even as a swooping feeling in the back of my mind told me that I'd moved too fast for my blood-depleted self. "Please, Mr. Creevy—" I felt Scorpius's gaze on me. "No one benefits if you tell him—I get in trouble, Harry gets cranky, and that's it."

"I can't just _not tell_ Harry, Rose—" He murmured, shaking his head.

"Please." I said sincerely, staring at him.

"You have a legal obligation." Scorpius countered, coldly. I looked up at him; he didn't understand how I knew Mr. Creevy, but he could fight better than I'd ever been able to. "Healer-Patient confidentiality." Mr. Creevy stiffened.

"I owe Harry Potter my life, young man." He said stiffly. "That trumps legal obligation. Even to Miss Weasley."

"Harry wouldn't do anything, you understand." I said after a moment; Mr. Creevy's gaze flicked to me, unwillingly. "He wouldn't mind it, so much. Molly Gale—" I didn't bother explaining who Molly Gale was, to this man, because he knew who Harry Potter's future daughter-in-law was, just like everyone else in our world. "is Celia Goyle's friend." I stared at him. "Please." I repeated, softly. I was out of options after this one.

"I'll get the form required for you to leave." He said lowly, pulling away; I exhaled. He hadn't said as much, but I was fairly sure that Mr. Creevy wouldn't be saying anything. I watched him go, my hand closing around the potion again. I lifted it to my lips, sipping it; the purple stuff tasted disgusting. I forced myself to finish it off and put it down on the table beside my cot.

"That's disgusting." I murmured, reaching up to wipe at my mouth; my hand shook a little.

"I don't think you should leave the hospital yet." Théo murmured, looking at me.

"Don't." Scorpius snapped, flashing a tight glare at Théo.

"Hush." I murmured to Scorpius, reaching up to hook my fingers in his shirt affectionately, between the buttons; the movement was so instinctual that I didn't realize I had done it until it was done. I realized, looking at his shirt now, that there was blood on it, and still on my hands. My hand fell from his shirt, suddenly, my other hand releasing his, and Scorpius looked down at our hands, pulling his hand back; it was stained. "Sorry." I mumbled, wiping my hands hastily on the part of my dress that was still clean.

"I hate blood." Scorpius muttered, pulling away from the bed to shrug off the jacket of his suit and reach up to loosen his tie. He undid the buttons of the shirt, revealing an undershirt, before he tugged it off. He dropped it on the chair beside my bed on his side.

"Why shouldn't I leave the hospital yet?" I asked Théo. "It's not bleeding, they bandaged it—" I looked down, realizing that my dress was still unbuttoned, and unlike Scorpius, I was not wearing an undershirt. Just my bra. I exhaled, reaching to button it with shaky fingers; even as I did, the discolored fabric was already stiffening. I exhaled as it stretched over the bulky gauze, winced as the pressure peaked when my arm brushed—brushed!—the gauze. _Ouch._

Stupid injuries.

"Because buttoning your dress hurts you." Théo murmured, reaching forward to help me; I let him do the top two buttons even as I looked away.

"I can't stay." I said after a moment. "Mr. Creevy is my uncle's friend—Wes Finnigan would call my parents before I had the time to ask him not to." I opened and closed my hands, looking helplessly as Théo finished the top button and pulled back. "And they—don't—"

"Your parents don't know we're friends." Théo finished. I nodded hesitantly.

"Bother her later, won't you?" Scorpius asked quietly; Théo bristled, but said nothing. I looked at him with a half a smile, and he exhaled, shrugging back on his jacket. "Merlin." He murmured, holding my gaze tiredly. "So. Cedric didn't have anything to do with this, right?" I shook my head. "Damn. Can't beat him up, then."

"Oy, one of us is already injured." I murmured. "Don't go hurting yourself on my account." Scorpius didn't say anything, and I watched him. He was making me nervous. "You know that this isn't a part of this."

"Cedric didn't do anything?" Théo murmured. "I have to say, I'm surprised."

"He called me an alcoholic, mentioned something about hating you." I murmured, raising my eyebrows. "That's it." I looked down. "Not exactly a gentleman but nothing terrible." I said softly. Silence—awkward, sort of—fell on us as I studied my bloodied dress; it was ruined. Even _Scourgify_ had a hard time with blood.

"You left the date." Scorpius observed.

"I did." I acknowledged, looking up at him curiously; where was he going with this?

"Celia calls you an alcoholic." Scorpius responded; heat flooded my cheeks. "Théo calls you worse."

"I am not dating Celia or Théo." I countered. Scorpius nodded, looking to Théo with slightly raised eyebrows, and Théo's eyes narrowed slightly. I sighed, and Scorpius glanced back at me; now that I was looking at him straight-on, I could tell his look was less surprised and more skeptical. "And no one's warned me off of Celia or Théo." I admitted softly. I looked down to my dress, reaching to touch my open hand against the gauze; my side protested vehemently, and I must have looked as woozy as I suddenly felt, because Scorpius grabbed my shoulder.

"Don't touch it." Scorpius advised quietly. I nodded once, tiredly.

"I can't believe I got splinched." I murmured.

"Don't do that again." Scorpius advised.

"Deal." I agreed, shaking my head. "This sort of sucked."

"And if you get splinched again." Théo noted. "Do not, I repeat, do not, show up, not super conscious, at the flat, because I'm pretty sure Scorpius will vomit next time."

"No." Scorpius said flatly.

"Here are the forms." Mr. Creevy said as he approached, ending the argument; his voice was a little bit warmer, now, and I smiled uncertainly at him. He offered me a clipboard and a pen. "Sign there…" He pointed at a line near the bottom of the page, and I scribbled an R. W. on the line. I looked up at him and offered him the pen. "If the bleeding resumes, return. If the pain becomes unbearable, return—"

"But it shouldn't, right?" Scorpius's voice was serious, and Mr. Creevy spared him an unhappy glance; he didn't enjoy having to stand across a bed from the Malfoy heir.

"Correct." He said after a moment, curtly, back to that unhappy voice. He took the pen and the clipboard from my hand. He paused. "Are you at least staying somewhere with a floo, so you can—"

"Yes, she is." Scorpius interrupted; I blinked. I didn't have a floo, and Scorpius knew that; I was staying with Scorpius tonight, apparently. "Can we leave?"

"You may." Mr. Creevy murmured.

"Thank you." I said softly. He just looked to me, his gaze condemning; I was forcing him not to tell Harry about this. And he wasn't pleased.

I swung my legs off the bed and pushed myself off the bed as the boys fell back a step, feeling the world around me spin; Scorpius didn't touch me, but I felt his gaze on me watchfully. I didn't fall, so I took an experimental step forward; when that didn't fail either, I looked at Scorpius. "Where's the floo?" I murmured.

"Oh, you did miss the entry, didn't you?" Scorpius murmured, putting a hand on the small of my back. He led me outside the curtains, Théo falling into step on my other side. With the boys, we cross the urgent care centre to the double doors that led to where you flooed in; Scorpius grabbed my hand, pulling me towards one of the fireplaces and turning as he stepped into the fireplace. He pulled my back against his front, my body flush against his, and Théo watched us go with raised eyebrows as the green fire flared around us.

"Go get in bed." Scorpius murmured quietly as we stumbled forward into his living room. "I'll make you…tea, or something." He lightly directed me towards the bedroom, and I allowed myself to continue towards the Slytherin-draped door.

"How domesticated." I mumbled; Scorpius didn't make a sound, and I slipped into the bedroom, kicking off my flats as I stumbled towards the bed. I slipped off my dress and grabbed a big, white t-shirt from his drawer, slipping it on.

I had barely made it under the covers before I fell asleep.

* * *

><p>I woke up in the middle of the night, the pain spells wearing off around two AM; it took me a moment to realize I was not only in Scorpius's bed, but <em>Scorpius was in his bed with me<em>. And we'd done this before—slept in the same bed, mind you—but this still felt different. It took me another second to realize why; Scorpius's arm was around my waist, hazardously closer to my bandage than Scorpius would have gotten, his body curled around mine. He'd probably thrown his arm there as he slept.

I remained carefully still for almost a whole minute—how to behave in this situation?—before I took a deep breath and shifted forward an inch on the bed, before I froze again; Scorpius didn't wake up. I shifted forward another inch, and then another, until I was sure I had enough room to flip onto my back, Scorpius's long arm still over my waist. I turned my head on my pillow to study the boy's for-once-unguarded face.

It took me seeing his face, blank with sleep, to realize he had sort of a sweet face.

It was a weird thing to notice, suddenly, after years of friendship (sort of). But he did. His cheek bones were high, and pronounced, but in a nonthreatening way, here, and the pillow pressed against his cheek brought the half-ounce of cheek fat he had up in a sort of adorable, innocent way. His full lips were slightly parted, his eyelashes—dark, thank goodness, because boys with pale eyelashes looked like they didn't _have_ eyelashes—longer than I had realized.

If I had been another girl, I might have wondered, at this point, _what I was doing_. Scorpius was more than off-limits; aside from being a Malfoy to my Weasley, he was my drinking buddy, my partner in crime, my knight in perfectly pressed Armani. He made sure I didn't go home with strange boys too frequently; I scared off clingy girls. But I knew better, sort of—I knew better in that I knew that this was nothing. I knew that nothing would happen. Scorpius and I lived in this backwards world where the people we slept with—they were the ones that didn't matter. The ones that we didn't dare touch, the ones we stayed farthest from, the ones we argued loudest with…they were the ones that _mattered_. They were the ones we wanted at the hospital with us and called when things went wrong. They were the ones that we would sleep beside, but never with. And clearly, without my knowledge, Scorpius had become one of my _ones_.

Where had I been?

* * *

><p>Points to Allen Pitt for seeing the terrible error I did not-splinched not spliced! Sorry for the typo guys, all fixed.<p> 


	7. What Goes Around, Comes Around

What Goes Around…/…Comes Around (Interlude)

_Is this the way it's really going down?  
><em>_Is this how we say goodbye?  
><em>_Should've known better when you came around  
><em>_That you were gonna make me cry  
><em>_It's breaking my heart to watch you run around  
><em>_'Cause I know that you're living a lie.  
><em>-Justin Timberlake

I woke up the next morning tiredly, my side now properly sore. I was in Scorpius's gray Slytherin shirt, a snake slithering up from the hem, and I had the brief fantasy of the magazine cover featuring Rose Weasley in a Slytherin shirt. I was absurdly reminded of something in a muggle movie I'd watched at Albus's house once. _You will never bring your family honor!_

That was why I kept coming back here, to Malfoy's bed. Because I knew, somewhere, that I _would_ never bring my family honor. I didn't want to be an auror, to play quidditch. I had no career in mind, I had no inclination towards hard work or self-motivation. I entertained myself with sleeping around and drawing exactly one line in the sand; do not sleep with Scorpius. And I had been edging ever closer to breaking that rule, too. What would happen then?

Pushing the obvious answer from my mind, I flipped back the edge of the covers, cold air slipping under the blanket. I realized, slowly, that I was cold because there was no one else under the covers with me. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the tears burn beneath my lids, and then exhaled, knowing already what I would find when I turned over.

Scorpius was gone.

I clicked open the door to my apartment half an hour later, favoring my left side heavily. I'd redonned the dress that I'd practically destroyed yesterday, folding Scorpius's things and leaving them at the end of his vacant bed.

"You should have expected this." I murmured to myself as I fumbled with the key at the door, ignoring the way my eyes still stung. Scorpius and I had gotten too close yesterday, scraped by being normal, functioning adults who cared for one and other. If Scorpius hadn't woken up first, I would have crept from his apartment silently while he slept. One of us had to leave the other; it was inevitable. It just sucked that I had to be the one left.

I opened the door unceremoniously, frowning at the dark apartment as I kicked the door the rest of the way open, letting my purse sink to the box beside the door. Hugo still hadn't unpacked. I'd come to terms with the fact that I was going to spend the rest of my life living between boxes of his crap.

"Why is this room so dark?" I murmured, frowning again as I remained in the doorway, unease eating at my stomach. Or maybe I'd just splinched part of my stomach off. Who knew about these things?

A movement in the vague area of the couch and a quiet snore told me exactly why this room was so dark; Hugo was still asleep. And, if my watch was correct, an hour late for work. I exhaled, rubbing my forehead. I suddenly understood why Mum hadn't minded Hugo moving out. "Hugh." I muttered, flicking my wand at him; the covers lifted, and Hugo mumbled something but didn't move. I flicked my wand again, and a purple sparkler flew from the end, crackling as it sped from my wand to flit around his head, making him groan and flip from his stomach to his back, swatting at the spell. "You're an hour late, mate." I told him, a little too tired to yell at him.

Hugo's left arm settled on his forehead, his elbow bent so his forearm almost covered his eyes, and his right hand scratched his thin stomach. "Called in sick last night." He mumbled, cracking an eye open.

"You feeling alright?" I murmured, reaching up carefully to tuck my hair behind my ear; my side screamed, and I felt a little dizzy. "If you have that thing that Victoire had last week, you have to move back home till you're no longer contagious…"

Hugo pushed himself up to one elbow, rubbing his eyes. "I got a notice from St. Mungo's about next-day treatment for splinching." I blinked; Hugo's worried gaze focused on the bloody patch on my dress. _Fuck. _"And since there is only one person other than myself who lives in this apartment…"

"It's nothing." I said after a beat. Hugo's gaze rose to meet mine questioningly. Had there ever been a splinching that was nothing?

"The note from Mr. Creevy said you were unconscious." Hugo mumbled doubtfully, but he didn't want to argue with me. Hugo was anti-confrontational to the millionth degree, it sort of drove me crazy. Not that I was the picture of perfect anger management (hahaha. ha.) but at least I felt the anger. Hugo just got disappointed or worried. It was endearing, in a why-don't-you-get-angry way.

"That was an exaggeration." I said with a smile, crossing the room carefully in my flats.

"He wrote that Malfoy and Zabini brought you in." Hugo mumbled. My heart skittered. Mr. Creevy had told me he wouldn't tell Uncle Harry. I had not made him promise not to tell my brother. _Come on, Rose. Don't leave loopholes like that. What did you learn from Fred and Albus if not how to avoid getting tattled on?_ "Did they do something to you?"

I exhaled dizzily, my smile fading. "Nah." I mumbled. "I splinched myself."

Hugo looked pained. "I told you the alcohol limit." He muttered, then I saw him unhappily shift his shoulders. "Were you drunk again?" He paused. "Do you think this is…" He hesitated. I chuckled bitterly, sinking down on a pile of boxes, dropping my forehead to my right hand, placing my elbow on my knee. My brother was asking me if I was an alcoholic; if I had a problem.

This was why I hadn't wanted Hugo here.

My brand of independence—the kind where I drank myself into a stupor and slept with everyone and cried myself to sleep—did not work when someone noticed I hadn't come home the night before. It didn't work, when someone monitored my well-being. And Hugo was just trying to be a good little brother, being responsible in his off-brand, refusing-to-wake-up-on-time way. But I couldn't survive that.

"Rosie?" Hugo asked uncertainly; I felt him brush my shoulder, his discomfort with having to take care of me marked. Our parents had raised us to be independent, not to depend on other people, because they had not been able to rely on anyone but each other and Uncle Harry. Even during the war, one of Dad's brothers had defected. Hugo and I loved each other and had been raised doing things together, but we were supposed to pick ourselves up when we fell.

"My side hurts." I mumbled to Hugo, the only possible explanation I could offer.

"Oh." Hugo said softly as I blinked hard. I wasn't going to cry, I didn't think. Maybe. Hugo and I sat like that, me on boxes full of his shit and him on my sofa, for minutes, the silence filled by my struggle to control my shaky breathing and keep the tears in my eyes at bay.

"Don't tell Mum and Dad about Malfoy and Zabini, okay?" I said softly, finally.

"'Course." Hugo murmured. After a moment, Hugo wiggled his toes experimentally and said "I s'pose I'll make some tea." I smiled a little at my brother.

It had been wise of me to let him move in.

* * *

><p>"<em>Duuuuuuude<em>." Albus dragged out the word as I approached his couch, the next day; I laughed, pushing my hair back as I eyed the other boys on his couch. Two quidditch players, neither of them too attractive, or, frankly, paying too much attention to me; they were playing some kind of video game, their fingers flying over the controllers. The incredible lows reached by professional quidditch players. You would think that professional athletes would know how to act around gorgeous girls (such as myself—I am also very humble). But no. "How are you, Rosie Posie?"

How was I? I hadn't spoken to Scorpius since the night I'd showed up at his apartment, bloodied. We were clearly pretending that I had never gone to him; we were clearly pretending that he had never buckled first in our previous argument about my self-defense skills and we were still somehow stuck in a stalemate that had been violated by a hospital trip and sharing a bed. Something in my stomach ached every moment I wasn't speaking to Scorpius. I felt kind of nauseated, still, from the potions I was supposed to be taking for another week. It was really sucky, frankly. But Albus didn't want to hear about that.

"Delightful." I said with a sweet smile for Albus; I loved when people used my old nickname. Like I was still that person, that little girl who had gotten on the Hogwarts Express with the big smile and the books and the inclination to get Os. And then I failed my first exam and figured out that I was pretty and that ship left the harbor with astounding speed. "How are _you_, Boy Who Lived?"

Albus barked out a laugh. "Living the dream." He told me; I rolled my eyes as he didn't move his gaze from the screen. _Thanks, Al. I feel loved._ "So what happened with you and Cedric? You two both went dark after your date. And he didn't say a word at practice yesterday."

I kept the smile in place; I'd gotten disturbingly good at this skin-deep behavior. Maybe I _was_ spending too much time with the Heirs Apparent. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell." I murmured, letting the corners of my mouth turn up as I let my gaze slide over the guests. Al's teammates glanced up at me, both of them flushing a little, and I let my suggestive smile grown an inch, shifting a little so my hips faced them properly, placing a hand on one hip. One of the boys shifted on the couch. _God, they were so easy to mess with._ I loved testosterone.

"Good news is, Rosie, you're no lady." Molly murmured to me as she appeared in the doorway to her and Albus's bedroom; I grinned at her, hand dropping from my hip, and she half-smiled at me, as much as Molly ever gave. "That said, if this tale involves sex things, I do not want to hear." Molly added after a moment, grumpily, as she stepped properly intot he living room, wearing what appeared to be only Albus's Tutshill jersey. I smirked. I wasn't the only girl who liked to toy with hormone levels.

Albus and friends stopped looking at the screen to watch Molly cross the room to the table piled high with laundry that smelled clean, even if it was unfolded and unsorted. Molly began to pick through the clothes as the three boys' characters died on screen; none of them noticed. I chuckled low, in my throat, and one of the boys looked a little longingly at me, his eyes sweeping the long legs that stretched from the shortish hem of my black and white striped dress to my high heels.

"Molly." Albus cleared his throat, his voice a little strained; his eyes were firmly fixed on the back of his girlfriend's head, through a gargantuan force of will. "As hot as it is to see you in only my jersey, I would really—I think—" He stopped, and I chuckled; he shot me a lethal look for the briefest of seconds before looking back to Molly. "Pants." He said after a beat.

"Don't like to share your toys, Potter?" I murmured to Albus; Al flipped me off, and I laughed again, reaching up to push my hair out of my face.

"Pants." He repeated to Molly.

"If you'd folded the laundry, you wouldn't have to share, and I wouldn't have to walk around here dressed like Rose was my personal shopper." Molly informed him tartly, raising her eyebrows at him as she twisted to look back at him. He exhaled unhappily, and she resumed rooting through the pile before she grabbed a pair of shorts and stepped into them, pulling them up before she turned to face me, grinning a little. Molly had at least partially done that to mess with Albus. I'd taught her well. "Now. Rosie. How can we help you? And by we, I mean I, because Albus is clearly too _busy _to fold laundry for the love of his life, much less help his own cousin." She shot Albus an angry look, and Al, his face still a little flushed, smiled sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, love." He said sincerely. "Never again."

"I do not believe you." Molly grumbled to Albus, before she looked back to me. "If you leave out the sex things, I would be very interested in hearing how Rose Weasley's first real date in many moons went…?" Her voice changed, and I tried to determine whether or not I heard judgment, there; she wasn't judging me, right? This was Molly. She was not super judgmental because she'd spent the first sixteen years of her life hovering in the gray area morality of protecting her father at the expense of herself and her siblings. It made her a great friend. And one of the most emotionally damaged people I knew.

"I need not leave out the sex things because the sex things did not occur." I told her after a beat, my voice slow and winding; Molly blinked, surprise evident on her features.

"What?" She asked after a second. She paused for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. "He was a guy, right? Because he's got some real long eyelashes and I keep telling Albus no guy's pecs are that big—"

I snickered. "No, no, Cedric has a dick. And, incidentally, is one." I grinned at Molly. "See what I did there?"

Molly seemed unimpressed by my wordplay. "Rose Weasley ended a night early?" She demanded incredulously; I ignored the genuine question in her eyes. "_My_ Rose Weasley?"

"She has _standards?"_ Albus demanded in the same tone from the couch; I shot him a dirty look.

"After ditching Al's friend at a club last week and going home—" She put her hand to her heart, and I felt a twist of panic; did she know I'd ditched to take Scorpius home? "My little girl is growing up." She said in a choked up voice.

"I'm not that bad—" I protested, leaning my head back irritatedly.

"You ditched Jeremy at the club?" Albus demanded, sounding both grumpy and impressed. _No no no. Stop asking questions_.

"I took another guy home." I informed Molly with a small, mean smile; I wasn't lying. Just because I'd taken Scorpius _home_ and then _left_ him there, fully clothed, didn't matter. She could read into what I said whatever she wanted.

"She slept with half my minor league team." Albus grumbled. "By the end of my time there, I was afraid to high five their hands because _I knew where they'd been_." I swallowed, discomfort lodging in my stomach where panic had been growing just a few moments ago; we'd strayed from Scorpius. Good.

"Well, what can I say?" I murmured, my gaze sliding to one of the boys, who had a Chudley Cannons emblem on his hat. "I have a thing for quidditch players. Lately, though, the Tornadoes just haven't been doing it for me…" I let my smile unfurl slowly across my face like a flag. Cannons boy smiled back at me. He wasn't super attractive, but he was passable, I decided in a moment. Besides. I was bored.

"That's 'cause the Tornadoes are the worst team in the league." The boy in the Cannons hat murmured, rising to my bait. It was too easy for me to play these boys like new toys on Christmas morning.

"Albus is doing a work of charity playing for them." I agreed, making sure I raked my eyes over the boy's form; he was tall and lithe, his head a little square. He'd broken that nose at least twice—I'd put my money on his being a beater. (This was a little game I played with myself, among the many to keep me entertained with a single boy for more than a moment.) "You don't play for them, I assume." I murmured. "Because Albus, charitable or not, will go down with his team."

"Cannons beater Archie Lassiter." He said, grinning at me and putting down the controller nod at me, before he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. I smiled; he was mine.

"Family fondness for the Cannons." I mused quietly; Albus groaned.

"Rose Weasley, making family traditions sexual since 2006." Albus muttered under his breath. I ignored him.

"What are you up to tonight, Archie?" I asked, smiling and meeting the gaze of the boy before me.

"Not much." Archie said, raising his eyebrows a little. _Ding ding ding, we have a winner, ladies and gentlemen._

"The final words of Cedric Stern and Jeremy Braddock." Albus muttered. I snorted, rolling my eyes, but even as I did, Archie's eyes narrowed a little, and he exchanged a look with the other boy on Albus's couch. I watched them carefully; was that about Cedric? Did they know anything about what Théo and Scorpius had spent hours warning me about?

"You just made a face." Molly said to Archie; I snorted. Molly's subtlety left a lot to be desired. "Why?"

"Cedric Stern has a bit of a…" Archie glanced at me uncertainly. "Reputation." He finished, his eyes locking on mine for a moment. He clearly had heard Molly's words earlier. "Did you date him?" I considered the words. _Did you date him_? No, Archie, I dated no one. I didn't like anyone, or care about anyone. Or haven't you heard? I'm Rose Weasley, and I am isolated.

"Just one date." I said lightly.

"Heard what?" Molly asked, looking at me. I smiled absently at her, and didn't respond. She sighed. "Ooh, yay, cryptic Rosie has come out to play." Her sarcasm was impossible to miss.

"Cedric's a good guy." Albus said distractedly, leaning to see the television around me; he'd picked up his controller again, resuming the game. I watched him irritatedly for a moment before I turned to look at the TV, and, after a moment, I blinked, and the television jumped a little, the screen going dark as smoke rose from the back. "Rose!" Albus leaned back on the couch, his gaze rising to glare tiredly at me.

"Sorry, cuz." I said with a grin, turning back to Albus. "But you were barely looking at me. And I _do_ love to be the center of attention." Albus groaned, then looked at Archie.

"This is your fault." He accused. "She would have left if you hadn't said you played for the Cannons."

"If I stuck around for team names, Al, I would not be in your apartment." I told my cousin, smiling in my sparkly way. Albus grimaced while Archie barked out a laugh.

"Fuck you." Albus grumbled.

"You're my favorite cousin." I said in a sugary voice.

"Fred will be terribly disappointed." Albus murmured. I snorted. Fred Weasley was Albus's best friend, and Molly's best friend, for that matter. He'd been their best friend when we were at Hogwarts, too. And when I'd gone batshit, Fred had rejected me along with Molly and Al—but unlike Molly and Al, I was still not to be trusted. Fred was damned stubborn.

"Yes, because he thought he had the favorite cousin market cornered." I murmured with a skeptical snort. Albus winced, and Molly exhaled audibly. I smiled glacially, looking now to Archie. "You said you weren't doing anything tonight?"

"Did you do that without a wand or a spell?" Albus asked, gesturing to the television. I shot my cousin a lethal look; he knew what I could do silently, wandlessly. He was just stalling me so I'd stop making sparkly eyes at Archie. He was cockblocking me.

"I did." I said flatly.

"That's impressive." Archie said, and I glanced at him, grinning.

"My mum took apart a TV with me and my brother when we were young." I explained softly. "I know how it works, all the parts. Which means I don't have to attack the thing with energy, just have enough control to break one tiny bit. Then, poof." I popped open my hands in front of me, gesticulating a cloud of smoke. "Just burn a piece on the inverter board and done."

Archie's eyebrows had climbed halfway up his forehead. "You know more about electricity than most magical kids." He paused. "And probably most muggles."

"Rose is secretly brilliant, don't worry about it." Albus said distractedly. "She got her thing for electricity from our grandpa." Al glanced up at me. "By the way… Grandpa is being given the Magical Muggle Unity award and there's going to be some kind of dinner at the Victory Hall. In December. Be there or be killed." I snorted; now he'd moved to the be-scared-of-our-enormous-famous-family move. People got freaked when faced with the actual fact of knowing Weasleys. "Mum's handling family RSVPs—"

"Tell her Hugh and I will be there." I told him flatly. "Can I get back to flirting with your friend, now, or will you continue to cockblock me?" I turned to Archie with a grin. "Since Albus seems to be so grumpy, let's make this fast—Crown Victoria, tonight, at 11? Meet me at the door, dress to impress."

"Dammit." Albus murmured. "Rosie…"

"I'm a big girl, Albus, leave me alone." I told my cousin with a frown, before I looked to Archie, smiling again, looking the boy straight into the eye. I really only needed two or three tricks to talk to boys, and they fell at my feet. "Up for Crown Victoria?" I murmured. Archie glanced uncertainly at Albus, then looked at me with a grin.

"See you there."

* * *

><p>I am really very good at clubbing.<p>

The tools of my craft are the easiest bit; short dresses and tall shoes and clutches that can fit a wand without looking oversized. The harder bit is my coworkers; the kids I see night after night. Scorpius, Théo. The girls who called themselves clubbers but lost their heads after a sip of butter beer. The boys who _hit_ on those girls and clapped Scorpius and Théo on the back as they came in, slurring a greeting. Scorpius would glare at them; Théo would curse at them. They got away with it, too, because Scorpius and Théo were the princes of the underground kingdom.

But I was queen.

So I really enjoyed clubbing, because I was good at it. I knew the names of the bouncers; the bartenders slipped me free drinks as long as I agreed to talk up their own concoctions. And it worked, well.

So walking into a club with my hand firmly in Archie's meant I was about to have a good night. Half an hour later, the night had yet more promise; Archie's hands on my hips, a song too loud in our ears, my head light with alcohol. Archie got smoother as he got drunk—his movements more fluid, his words fewer and his laugh happier. This was why people got to alcoholism. Because all social awkwardness was shattered by drunken laughter and impulse control faded with shyness.

"I need another drink, babe…" Archie's breath was hot against my ear; I shivered against him, slipping my hands down over his on my hips, entwining my fingers with his.

"I need another song, babe." I countered in a throaty murmur, before I released his hands and turned back to him easily, placing a hand flat against his chest. He grinned down at me, and I grinned up at him. Archie was playing along nicely, in a way that neither Jeremy nor Cedric had; he knew that all I wanted was some fun. And he seemed very willing to provide said fun. "Get me a Weasley Whiskey, won't you?" I murmured; he grinned, tilting his head to the side as his drunken gaze swept my face curiously. Weasleys drank Weasley Whiskeys for free. Archie had already insisted on paying for everything, but I didn't like to tax boys too much. I was already messing with their hormones and their hearts; I would leave the wallets untouched.

"Sure." He murmured, and in a moment he was gone, slipping easily between the people in the crowd. The second he was three feet from me, I felt hands find my hips, and I looked down at the familiar hands, the cuffs of a shirt with a higher thread-count than my sheets.

"'Lo, Théo." I murmured, turning my head slightly to look at the boy, even as I moved my hips compliantly.

"_Bonjour chère_." He murmured. I turned to him, smiling slightly as I looked up at him, still moving just enough to the music that no one around us would notice.

"Haven't you heard?" I asked quietly. "You and Scorpius are ignoring me." Théo's stony expression didn't move an inch. I studied him. "So you're breaking rank."

"I'm no one's soldier, Weasley." Théo hissed immediately, the accusation of following Scorpius hitting too hard for him not to respond to. I sighed, looking up at Théo seriously. I felt bad for him; he was so serious, so angry, all the time. All he had in this world was Scorpius and his mother, who I never heard much about. His father and sister and brother ignored him. It was no wonder that he let Scorpius take the lead. _Abandonment issues for 200 please._

"So you guys just happen to march to the beat of the same drummer?" I guessed.

"More like we have a common objective." Théo murmured, the irritation bubbling in his eyes. "And I will tell you, Weasley, that if Malfoy were ignoring you, I would be a much happier little drummer boy."

"He left me alone in his bed like one of his whores, Théo." I retorted, the words fast and making my stomach hurt; it had hurt even more when it had happened.

"_En amour comme à la guerre, tous les coups sont permis."_ Théo murmured, a sardonic smile curling his lips. "_Et ce n'est pas la guerre."_

"It's often said that French is the most beautiful language." I said softly, offering a quarter of a smile to my sort-of-friend's best friend. "I find it more irritating than anything else."

"Generally, _chérie_, when a man ignores you, he doesn't think of you too frequently." Théo's voice was low and deep. I may have sort of hated him, but I had to admit, his voice was pretty damned attractive. It helped that his words set off a flurry of pleasure whirling around my chest; _Scorpius was thinking of me?_ But he'd left me in my bed; but he hadn't contacted me once.

"Don't flatter yourselves." I felt a touch of nostalgia touch my smile. "You dress like men, you sound like men, you drink like men. But you are boys." My smile faded, my voice still smooth, but Théo must have known the feeling behind the words. "A man does not leave a woman in his bed." Théo barked out a laugh.

"You are the farthest thing from an adult, Rose Weasley." He said degradingly. The flare of hurt in my stomach must have shown on my face; I stopped dancing as Théo did, him glaring at me, me desperately trying to conceal how hurt I was.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice irritated but not as angry as I wanted it.

"Ignoring you, by your definition." Théo smirked. I glared at him, and he sighed. "A best friend had certain duties. This is one of them."

"How is this one of your duties?" I demanded.

"Dancing with you while your flavor of the night is getting you drinks?" Théo asked, raising his eyebrows incredulously. "Maybe you're actually just an idiot. Hermione Granger's genes can't save everyone I suppose—"

"You're screwing up my date." I said with an irritated flash of my eyes, trying to channel Molly; I knew all to well that I was setting an impossible standard. My baby blues could not create the fear that Molly's could. "Archie comes back, sees me dancing with you—or, now, arguing with you—" Théo snorted. "And he doesn't think I'm into him? I become too much work for a one-night stand?"

"_Oui, ma chérie."_ Théo said, mocking smile still in place.

"To what end?" I demanded, frowning still. I just didn't understand. "Besides, if a conversation or a dance away from him makes him crazy, then he—" I was cut off as I heard Archie say something I couldn't quite hear behind me; Théo's gaze drifted over me to my date. And then, too quickly for me to react, Théo's hands found my hips again, tugging me toward him, against his chest, and as I looked up, his lips hit mine.

_Théo Zabini was kissing me_.

Panic and discomfort lodged between my lungs as my eyes closed automatically; I reached up to spread a hand on his chest, shoving the boy away as I stepped away from him, my eyes wide, my lips swollen. I glanced at Archie, and he frowned at me and turned away, lifting the drink in his hand to his lips as melted back into the crowd. I looked back to Théo, still wide-eyed. He raised an eyebrow, casual as anything.

"A conversation will not bother a man; a kiss might." Théo smiled dryly, and I stared at him.

"Is this your wildly backwards way of telling me you're into me or something?" I demanded after a second, my voice rising to be heard over the music, since we were no longer so close. Théo snorted. So, that was a no. "_What the hell was that_?" I demanded, reaching up to push my hair out of my face.

"We don't have a direct idiom in French…" Théo murmured. "But I believe the English is 'payback is a bitch,' is it not?" I gaped at Théo. Last time I had seen him, we had had an argument that had ended in my hexing him. Théo had never hit me back.

Théo had done this as _payback_?

"For the love of Merlin." I murmured, staring at him. "Do you just lack a moral compass or—?" I fell silent, wordless in my shock. Théo chuckled.

"_Je seulement préfere que faire d'une pierre deux coups." _Théo murmured. I stared at him, still flustered, confused. He had put a lot of effort into fucking with my date tonight. And now Théo had _kissed_ me. Théo _Zabini_. This was disgusting. I probably had an STI just from the lip-contact. Gross.

"I am not drunk enough for this." I said after a moment; Théo chuckled again. I shook my head once. "I'm not joking. Since you just fucked with my date, you owe me a drink."

"One Weasley Whiskey, coming up."


	8. Do you want me, or do you want me dead?

Do you want me (dead)?

_I let it ride on a bad bet  
>I doubled down on a sinking ship<br>I need a second to catch my breath  
>Do you want me<br>Or do you want me dead?  
>-All Time Low <em>

"Hugh." I whispered, standing at the end of my little brother's bed, four nights later; my blanket was around my shoulders like a cape, one of my feet balancing my weight not on the floor but on top of a box labeled ambiguously M.T.R. Oh, Hugo. Would he ever unpack? Or was I forever destined to having my apartment look like a squatter's paradise?

_Not the point, Rosie_.

I forced myself to inhale, exhale, try to balance. I was here asking my little brother a question. _Man up_. I urged myself, and almost giggled at the absurdity of that phrase. And then I scolded myself on being that immature. _My internal dialogue might be getting a little too intense._

"Hugo." I said a little louder, but I felt like I was voiding the sanctity of 3 AM. Hugo had woken me up every morning since he'd moved in, though. Surely I was granted one wake up for all of those times.

Besides, if I didn't discuss the Théo-Scorpius situation with someone, my head was going to explode.

I'd been thinking about the boys pretty much every day since Théo had kissed me, bought me a drink, and then slipped out of the club faster than I could keep track of. Théo remained the biggest asshole in the UK, but Scorpius at least still hovered in confusing middle ground, and I wasn't sure what Théo had been talking about at the club. It didn't help that he'd said things in French and my grasp of French was next to none (all of it taught to me by a brief obsession with Madeline as a little girl). And Hugh already knew they'd brought me in to St. Mungo's, and he wouldn't tell my parents, I didn't think, that I was friends with them. So he was the only choice. And I wanted to talk now.

"Hugh…" I reached out from my mobile blanket cave, my arm grabbing his ankle and shaking it a little.

"Grmph." Hugo murmured into his pillow. I took that as _I'm awake, what do you want_ and bounded onto his bed/my couch, making the whole thing shift. Hugo turned over sleepily, and I crawled carefully to the side of the bed he wasn't occupying. I crawled to the top of the bed before I turned and sat, my back against the back of the couch, and shifted my covers again. Hugo made another incoherent noise of protest.

"Alright." I said after a second. "You awake?" I looked down at my brother; he cracked the only visible eye open (the other half of his face was pressed against the pillow) and blinked at me.

"Mulmp." He mumbled incoherently.

"Perfect." I beamed at him, patting his head. "So. Théo Zabini kissed me and I _think_ he was implying that Scorpius _likes_ me even though Scorpius is ignoring me." Hugo blinked up at me again. "And I am also ignoring him." I added after a moment, a last-second bid for self-respect. "Because we had a fight over whether I can take care of myself when I go clubbing. And we had a sort of break when I got splinched because he took me to the hospital."

Hugo blinked again, then pushed himself up. "What?" He mumbled as he sat back on his heels, rearranging his blanket around his shoulders. I exhaled sharply, blowing some hair out of my face.

"Théo Zabini kissed me and I think he meant—or implied something? There was a lot of French, I got confused—that Scorpius Malfoy liked me and he was kissing me because—" I paused, narrowing my eyes as I cocked my head to the side. "Alright, that doesn't make sense. I'm lost again." I shook my head once. "Nevermind—anyway, Théo kisses me and mentioned something about—Scorpius not ignoring me or something more significant than that and I wasn't sure what that meant—" I exhaled. "I _thought_ it meant he liked me but now that doesn't make sense because if Scorpius likes me and Théo knows, then obviously, kissing me is a big no-no because those two are bros. Théo could have gotten revenge on me in like eighteen ways, none of the others involving kissing."

"Zabini _kissed_ you?" He asked after a beat, rubbing his eye. I yawned widely, the nodded. "Woah." He murmured. I raised an eyebrow. "Um. Does he like you?"

"No—" I frowned at my brother. "Have you been listening?"

"Sort of." Hugo frowned at me. "You're not a great explainer." He looked at me unhappily, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Can I go back to sleep?"

"No." I said shortly with a frown. Hugo grumbled incoherently. "And I talked about Scorpius because Théo implied something about Scorpius maybe having feelings for me and after his whole song-and-dance when I got splinched, that's really possible." I countered. "But we're ignoring each other, so I can't mind-game it out of him because even my eternal skill at mind games cannot compete with nonpresence."

"Song and dance?" Hugo repeated, frowning, then yawned. "Scorpius dances?" I exhaled shortly.

"Can you listen to the words I am saying?" I demanded, scowling properly. Hugo stared unrepentantly at me. "I don't mean literally—I just mean, Scorpius was really—touchy feely when I got splinched." I narrowed my eyes a little at Hugo. "Like…he touched my hair. And held my hand. And—" I hesitated, looking away from Hugo. I touched the blanket that was draped over my legs, drawing my knees up to my chest and hugging them self-consciously. "And just cared a lot. And Scorp and I don't do that—we mess around and take each other home at night but—" I swallowed. "He kissed my cheek though…"

"Your stream of consciousness is a little bit difficult to follow." Hugo grumbled, his voice deep with sleep; I looked up at him, and he was watching me, all judgment vacant from his face. "But I am kind of getting the idea that Scorpius likes you."

"Right?" I said, a little loudly; Hugo winced. "Sorry—but seriously, isn't that crazy?" I stared at him. "Scorpius slept in his bed with me the night I was splinched—he just _slept beside _me. And I mean, we've done that before, but it's always been in a _this is your side and that is my side _kind of way. And I woke up in the middle of the night and _his arm was around me._" I stared at Hugo. "_His arm was around me." _I repeated emphatically, and Hugo raised his eyebrows. "But then he bounced out the next morning before I woke up. Like I was alone in his apartment."

"That's weird." Hugo said immediately.

"Yes. Thank you." I said, feeling wildly vindicated. Hugo was disturbingly good at girltalk.

"On a couple levels." Hugo agreed. "First off, he's an asshole, waking up in someone else's bed alone can't be fun." I grimaced. If only my brother knew how often I played _that _game. I'd left so many boys alone in my bed, this thing with Scorpius was just the universe trying to throw some karma around. "Second—it is _weird_ that he left you in his apartment alone. _Weird _weird."

"No I'm in his apartment alone on a weekly basis." I said, flapping my hand at Hugo.

"What?" Hugo demanded, his eyebrows coming together confusedly.

"I know the locks to get into his apartment." I said, shrugging. "If we agree to meet up and he's not there, I just let myself in and wait for him."

"You have the locks to his apartment?" Hugo demanded incredulously. "Scorpius _Malfoy_ gave you the locks to his apartment?" I nodded, uncertain of what Hugo was freaking out about. "Is this a thing he does with all his friends?" Hugo asked. I almost replied 'yes,' before my stomach dropped. _I'd had to let Théo in to Scorpius's apartment the night of the argument_.

Théo didn't have the locks.

I exhaled shortly, feeling uneasy. "No." I said slowly, realization in my voice. "No—just me." I blinked blearily at Hugo. "He only gave me the locks."

"Oh." Hugo said after a beat, making an uncertain face. I wrinkled my nose at him. "Hmm." He paused. "If I gave a girl the locks to our apartment, that would mean a lot. That said, I am not Scorpius Malfoy." He pulled a slightly unhappy face. "Rosie… Dad's gonna kill you."

"Shh." I mumbled. "I know."

"I mean, that was literally rule number one in our house. No Malfoys." Hugo mumbled. I smiled a little sadly at my little brother, my gaze meeting his miserably.

"I'm Rose Weasley, Hugh." I murmured. "Remember my motto? Leave no rule unbroken." Hugo groaned, flopping back down on the pullout bed. He stared at the ceiling as my gaze dropped to my knees, and I picked at the blanket for a few minutes in silence before Hugo finally sighed, speaking again.

"Before I go back to sleep," He murmured, "you should know that it sounds like Scorpius likes you, Rosie." He paused. "And it kind of sounds like you like him too."

"No. Shut up. No." I said irritably, grabbing Hugo's pillow out from under his head and lifting it only to bring it down in a hit to his shoulder. "Shh. No." Hugh held up his hands in defense as he bit out a tired laugh. I dropped the pillow onto his stomach, and he hugged it there; I glared at him. "No." I insisted again.

"How is Rose Weasley of the one million boyfriends nervous about liking a guy?" Hugo demanded sleepily; his eyes were already closing despite his new lack of pillow. "Walking contradiction." He closed his eyes now, turning his head to the side. He was almost asleep. I sighed, pushing myself up and crawling towards the edge of the bed; I knew as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed that Hugh was out of wisdom for the night. As I dragged my blanket-caped-self back towards my bedroom, I paused at the door.

"Remember," I whispered; Hugo cracked open one eye. "Don't tell Mum or Dad."

* * *

><p>I needed a job.<p>

This was the only thing I could think as I frowned at myself in the mirror in the dressing room I was in, two days later. I didn't have a top on because I'd been about to try on a dress that I was hoping to buy—when I'd seen the scar. It was dark pink and large and raw-looking, and wholly unattractive. And not the sort of thing that a model could have.

I touched it, wincing; it didn't hurt, but I couldn't really feel the scar, something that Mr. Creevy had assured me would go away eventually. He'd also assured me that give it six months, this scar would be less pink, less gross. Less of a problem. I could go back to modeling in a year, probably, with some wandwork covering up what remained of the scar.

In the meantime, unless I was willing to tap into my money from my grandparents—which I was not—I had to get a job.

I'd completed Hogwarts well. I had NEWTs in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Muggle Studies, Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. I certainly had the connections for jobs, though that wasn't really how I wanted to play this. It was weird; I didn't mind my name getting me in the door at parties, but the idea of getting hired because I was a Weasley—_yes, one of THOSE Weasleys—_was disgusting. I'd thought about getting a job after Hogwarts; at the time I'd looked at Gringotts, as a magical lock creator and tester. I'd liked it then; good salary, and I was good at Magical Cryptography and locks.

"But I'm not eighteen anymore." I murmured to myself in the mirror. "And no one wants to hire the twenty-year-old party girl with no job experience."

Part of this whole thought process was the fact that I had had nothing to do, basically, since I'd gone out with Archie and that had failed miserably. I didn't want to drive Albus to suicide by turning his apartment into my boytoy shop, so I didn't have random boys to go out with, and I wasn't talking to Scorpius or Théo. And I missed Scorpius. Boy, did I miss Scorpius.

_Stop it, Rose_. I was not Molly Gale or Sera Finnigan. I did not get a star-crossed lover or someone to hug me when I cried. I knew enough about myself to know that. Molly and Sera were appealing as _people_; I was appealing because I was gorgeous, because I drew no lines and had no standards. But no one wanted to bring me home to meet his mother.

And Scorpius was not the kind of boy who _fell_ for girls.

"Miss Weasley?" The sales clerk said on the other side of the door; I glanced at the closed curtain. "I have to help another customer but just call and I'll be back, alright?"

"Of course." I said distractedly, sighing as I turned away from the mirror and pulled the dress from its hanger. I pulled it on, quickly slipping out of my jeans as I turned back to the mirror. I stepped out of my jeans and studied myself in the mirror; the dress was short and black with golden phoenix feather wings arching over my shoulders and down to my hips, where the tips of the wings shimmered magically, the shimmer continuing down to the hem of the dress, several inches above my thigh. The sleeves were long, down to my wrists, but tight to my arm. I smiled a little at my reflection. With the scar covered up, I looked exactly the same as always; perfect.

I pulled back the curtain and stepped out into the store; I looked around for my saleswoman and found her standing in front of a blond boy that I recognized all too well. Scorpius raised an eyebrow at me over the saleswoman's head, and I just met his gaze evenly. My heart fluttered my chest.

_Pull it together, Rosie._

"You let just anyone in here, don't you?" Scorpius said, loud enough for me to hear; the words were directed at the saleswoman, but he was smirking.

"Apparently, Malfoy. You are here, after all." I countered, putting my hands on my hips. The saleswoman turned to glance at me, her eyes wide and panicked. She thought we were actually fighting.

"Ah, the Weasleys, always acting like Merlin's gift to the Wizarding World." Scorpius rolled his eyes, stepping around the sales girl. "Whatever did we do before you thought to grace us with your presence?"

"Wept all the time, I'm sure." I said shortly, stepping closer to Malfoy, so my chest and his were an inch apart; I let my voice drop to just above a whisper as I continued. "You left me in your bed." I breathed.

"You look none the worse for it, my dear." He murmured, his gaze sweeping down my form; I reached out, placing two fingers under his chin and pulling his face up so his eyes met mine, swirling darkly. _What was he thinking?_

"And then—as if that were not enough." I murmured. "Your lackey showed up while I was out with a boy who actually _met_ all my requirements for fucking around with and _fucked that up_—"

"Théo takes care of his own business, Weaselbee." Scorpius murmured. "His vengeance on you is amusing to me, but not of my own—"

"And that would be why he kissed me, yes?" I countered lowly. Scorpius fell silent mid-sentence, his mouth open still, his eyes sharp, suddenly, his face hard. I nodded. "I figured he wouldn't tell you." I muttered, shaking my head. "I can't believe you two, okay? It is one thing to be careless with your own lives and your own selves, but your carelessness is starting to fuck with me. You left me in your bed and haven't spoken to me since—" Scorpius sighed shortly, a flush coloring his cheeks, "and Théo ruined my night with Archie." I glared at him. "Stop it."

"Like you are any less careless than us." Scorpius scoffed, scowling darkly at me. I glared back up at him, and after a moment, he exhaled, stepping back and turning away, running his hand over his perfectly-combed hair. "_Merlin_, Rose, the things you do to me." He said lowly. I swallowed, feeling confused. I wasn't less careless than Scorpius or Théo, but I wasn't _more_ careless, either, and that deserved points, didn't it? And what was Scorpius talking about?

Scorpius looked back down at me, studying me tiredly. I felt my own face melt under his gaze; the hard lines of his face faded too, as his eyes bored into mine. We softened each other and brought out the worst in each other. _We would never work_, I tried to tell the part of my brain that I refused to even admit the existence of. Scorpius's stance changed, suddenly, as he squared up to me, facing this problem head on. "Why did you think Théo wouldn't tell me?" He asked after a beat.

"What?" I asked after a beat; if I'd had to say what I had thought Scorpius was about to say, that would not have been it.

"You said you didn't think Théo would tell me that he kissed you." Scorpius said shortly. "Why?" I held my breath. I didn't want to answer this question, because the conversation that would inevitably follow it would go downhill, would spin and twirl it's way into a disaster that would ruin everything. So I offered Scorpius my default distraction.

"You look like you could use a drink." I murmured. Scorpius sighed.

"You have no idea." The darkness, the emotion, stopped weighing so heavily on his features. "My apartment?"

"Merlin bless you."

* * *

><p>"Malfoy."<p>

"I know."

"Mate."

"Go to hell, Théo." I was awoken by the charming sound of my boys arguing, the next morning. Scorpius and I had gotten drunk at his apartment the night before, and, apparently, passed out, because this threadcount was not for my bed.

"She's in your bed." Théo's voice was dark.

"Shut up." Scorpius's matched his in tone.

"You can't just have her in your bed, mate. Not anymore." I recognized these words should mean something to me, but my sleep had left me still confused as to what was going on above my head.

"I know that." Scorpius sounded exhausted.

"Then what is she doing in your bed?"

"Sleeping off the McCallan 12 single malt we drank last night."

"You got drunk with her?"

"Alright, I exercised an immense amount of bad judgment last night, thank you for your commentary." Scorpius said irritably; I felt a hand on my shoulder, Scorpius's fingers curling around my arm. "Gotta get up, babe." He murmured beside my head; I opened my eyes to blink blearily at him.

"Sleeping." I murmured unhappily.

"Weasley." He said firmly.

"Malfoy." I mimicked as he slid into focus. "I feel like shit." I muttered after a second, as the world spun around the blond boy crouching beside me.

"Welcome to the club." Malfoy murmured. "We polished off a shit load of single malt last night."

"Blargh." I flipped onto my back. "I'm always hungover from whiskey."

"I think that's what the single malt is code for." Scorpius murmured. "I'm sure there's an asterisk somewhere on that bottle: _single malt means will_ _leave_ _you_ _shit_-_faced_." He sank down on the bed and I inched over as he flopped down beside me, side to side. He put an arm over his eyes and I lifted my head as he slid his arm under my head. I curled into his side, closing my eyes as the headache pounding in my skull softened slightly; I turned my face into his chest, inhaling.

"Rose." Scorpius groaned softly; I put a hand on his chest, my fingers tangling in his shirt as I lifted my face to smile a little manipulatively at him. "Stop." He murmured, his voice resigned and desperate.

"What if I can't?" I asked huskily. Scorpius's unhappy eyes filled with something else that I couldn't identify. I forced my blue eyes to hold his gray gaze despite the panic seizing my stomach, my lungs as my smile faded; I wanted to run away so badly. _Stay, Rose_. I ordered myself. I let myself run from everyone but Scorpius. I had to be honest with someone, didn't I?

"Can't you?" He murmured. I felt the corner of my mouth twitch up into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Can I?" I breathed. Scorpius stared at me and I stared back. For a terrifying moment, I thought we might remain like this forever, the silence pressing into the bottoms of my lungs until it dried and froze like cement. And then Théo spoke.

"The mudblood is going to stain your sheets." Théo murmured; I looked up at him with a charming smile, forcing the silence away, forcing any feeling back. _Scorpius will fuck with you and run away, Rose, you know that_.

"The little prince sounds jealous." I murmured. "Théo, dear, do you wish you were the one staining Scorpius's sheets? Because he hasn't gotten much tail recently, and I'm sure he'd be more flexible now—" Scorpius shoved me off of him.

"It's not like you're the one staining Scorpius's sheets." Théo smirked, and I prepared myself for whatever grenade he was about to press into my hand; he looked far too smug for his next sentence to be anything but cruel. "No, dear, that would be Miss Goyle."

Dizziness swamped me as I stared up at Théo, my smile fading a little. I sat up, turning to look at Scorpius; he was watching me passively, his face completely blank. _For the love of God. _Sometimes I could read him like a book, and sometimes he was slightly more secretive than a goddamned ninja.

"We went to her mum's gala together yesterday." Scorpius offered. I nodded, keeping the half a smile I could retain in place.

"Your father must be so pleased." I said after a beat to Scorpius, staring at him.

"He is." Scorpius said levelly. I stared at Scorpius. He didn't sound regretful; he didn't sound tired or sad or sorry. I didn't understand. He'd gone to bat for me with his dad—that _meant_ something—but was now sitting here—the night after we get drunk together, the night after I spend the night in his bed _again_—telling me he was dating _Celia Goyle_. Théo's words from just a moment ago echoed in my head: "_You can't just have her in your bed, mate. Not anymore."_

I faced forward, looking down at the sheet covering my legs. I was a damned idiot. _Stupid Rose. _I knew this wasn't going to work out—that Scorpius was not this boy who had feelings for a _Weasley_, that Scorpius would not change, especially not for a girl that behaved exactly like him. I realized, in a painful breath, that I definitely liked Scorpius. And I had done this to myself.

"Probably wouldn't be great if she found me in your bed, huh." I said after a beat, my voice a little hollow. If Scorpius heard the tone, he didn't say anything.

"Probably not." Scorpius admitted. I slid sideways on the bed, turning so my legs swung off it. I slid off the bed and stepped easily across the room to where I'd left my shoes; I slipped my feet into the high heels easily. I glanced around and Théo had crossed to behind me, and was holding out my purse. I took it from a little too quickly, and left Scorpius's bedroom at the same, not-quite-casual pace. Théo followed me—I heard his shoes against the hardwood floor—to the door; he put his hand on the door above my shoulder, making it impossible to open, and I spun to face him, forcing an alluring half-smile as I reached up to finger the opening in his shirt, running my thumb over the first shut button.

"Want some of your own fun now that your best friend's getting some?" I asked lowly; somewhere, I knew this was the wrong way to handle this, that Théo's expression was far too dark for this to be a healthy reaction for me to be having, but I wasn't sure what else to do. _I liked Scorpius. Scorpius is dating Celia._

_Fuckety fuck fuck._

"The other night," Théo murmured to me in all seriousness. "This was not what I meant to happen." I felt all the allure fade from my smile as it became sad. "He is doing this wrong."

"Or maybe you were wrong." I said after a beat, my voice barely above a whisper; if Scorpius heard my next sentence, I was chalking this up to the worst day ever and jumping out a window. "Don't feel too bad about it. I was wrong too." I did a little half-chuckle, my throat burning. "I spent last night in his _bed_, for the love of God." I turned away, trying the door again. Théo's hand fell behind me, and the door opened easily; I slipped outside, away from the boys.

_Scorpius and fucking Celia_.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, I stood before my uncle Bill, who was watching me perplexedly, scratching at one of his graying temples.<p>

"You want a job?" He said after a beat.

"Yes sir." I said quietly. He eyed me uncertainly.

"Really?" He asked after a second. I raised an eyebrow at him. He snickered. "Jeez, you look like Ginny when you do that." I offered him a smile. I had to be polite. I really needed this job. It had been hard enough to sit around my apartment missing Scorpius before I found out he was dating Celia. Now, I knew if I didn't wake up tomorrow morning with a place to go, it would kill me.

There was another, more honest part of myself that knew there was another reason I was doing this. Crazy Rose, Rose who never slept and always drank and never woke up in the same bed twice (except for Scorpius) had lost the boy she liked. So I was going to change, fix things, and make a new Rose. One who got her shit together and got the boy she liked because the boys wanted _her._

Who needs self-esteem? Not I.

"I mean, Rose…" He sighed, studying me doubtfully. I held my breath, praying that Bill would be too reluctant to confess to his little brother that he wouldn't hire his daughter to not hire me. "Do you have any job experience?" He asked, and I beamed at him.

"No." I admitted, a little sheepishly; Bill winced, running his hand down his face; I rushed on, lest I lose my audience before I enchant him. I wasn't sure how to, though—my usual methods would be inappropriate to a factor of a million with a man I was related to. "But I got NEWTS in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures…"

"Yeah, you'd be well-qualified if you were eighteen." Bill agreed readily, sitting down in the large chair behind his desk; he leaned back in it, folding one leg so his ankle rested on the other leg's knee. He moved the résumé in front of him to his lap. "Your résumé is ludicrous, Rose."

"I made it sixth year with Uncle Neville." I said, still smiling. My dad always fell for this smile; I'd seen Victoire's work on her father. I just had to channel Vicky. "Can't blame me."

"But just entering the job market at twenty with your résumé from school doesn't look great, kid." Bill said frankly, glancing up at me.

"I know." I said, then smiled impishly. "So I came to my very favorite uncle rather than some mean stranger to beg for an entry-level position."

"Rosie Posie…" Bill's voice trailed off. "You really want this?" He narrowed his eyes at me slightly, studying me. He really wanted me to say no. _Sorry, Bill._

"Yes." I said determinedly. Bill looked at me tiredly, his narrowed eyes fading to defeated ones. He didn't want to say yes, but he couldn't say no.

"If I hire you, you have to show up, every week day at eight AM, alright?" Bill said firmly. "You can't miss or come in hung-over or anything—"

"Bill-!" I flushed as I frowned at him.

"I read the tabloids, sweetheart." Bill said sympathetically. I ran a hand through my hair. "And while I have faith in you, I also know that as my niece, you have given my little brother many a headache—" He shook his head. "I can't hire you if you're not going to do the work." He pressed his lips together. "Especially when I know you are capable of the work." I felt a twist of discomfort; _what if I'm not?_ I was Hermione Granger's daughter in blood only. _Please don't expect anything of me. I just need money and the ability to consider myself not completely fucked over by Scorpius Malfoy._

"I am absolutely going to do the work." I said firmly. Bill exhaled, blowing some of his hair off his forehead. "I'll be here early and late." I grinned. "I can come in with Hugo in the mornings. He lives with me now, you know. I have to wake him up for work every morning—which, incidentally, has taught me _responsibility_—"

"Alright, kiddo, you have to job." Bill rolled his eyes. "Seven AM to five PM, alright? Monday through Thursday. You'll be on a response team—basically, you have to go unlock doors that little kids have locked themselves behind. Pays 2700 galleons a year—not much, but longer, harder you work, you'll get a raise." He looked at me, and smiled a little. "I'm proud of you, Rosie, getting your act together." He grinned. "Ron is gonna be so pleased with you."

"I was hoping you wouldn't tell him. Or Mum. Or really anyone." I chewed on my lip self-consciously. "I need you not to tell anyone." Bill frowned. "Just—I—I need to make sure that I don't fail. In like a month, we can pull that off."

"Sounds fair." Bill said easily, nodding once.

"Alright." I grinned uncertainly at Bill. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sounds good." I ducked out of my uncle's office, turning down the hallway as I started towards the elevators.

New Rose did not need Scorpius. She had a job.

* * *

><p>SPECIAL THANKS TO my lovely reviewers who give me drivehope/procrastinating skills. Who hasn't done her AP French homework? This one. Who is no longer interested in reading another page about the Bay of Pigs? Meeeee. Rose and Scorpius are written in every corner of my physics notebook, something that had a curiously helpful effect on a test I took today. So obviously, fan fiction is da best.

Shoutouts:

Firemaker

TheInnerMusingsofMe

NotADreamYetNotANightmare

Diane Potter

SophieDe

HungaryMama

Roseweasley85

Ty

Allen Pitt

Frostykitten

Truehpfan94

InLovewithLove16

French Vanilla Cloud


	9. We Are Young

Lols. I'm a touch delayed on this one, aren't I. Just like two years or so :)

I actually do intend on finishing this for all that that may sound like a lie. I'm going to pick up going at some kind of pace again. Sorry, loves!

If anyone's actually hung in there, an extra big thanks.

xx.

* * *

><p><span>We Are Young<span>

_My seat's been taken by some sunglasses asking 'bout a scar, and  
><em>_I know I gave it to you months ago  
><em>_I know you're trying to forget  
><em>_But between the drinks and subtle things  
><em>_The holes in my apologies, you know  
><em>_I'm trying hard to take it back._

—_F.U.N._

The next Monday, I was sitting in a chair in the main office. I'd come in early—six thirty instead of seven—because I wanted to make sure that I beat everyone here. No one would blame Rose Weasley for not having a work ethic. Even if my work ethic was suffering greatly in the early morning hours.

Except now no one was here to see me being awake and alert and _trying_.

The last few days had all been a whirlwind of logistics—cancelling modeling gigs, filling out paperwork for this. I hadn't had time to think on the decision I'd made, the people I'd cut out. Now, though, alone in this room, there was disturbingly little to distract myself with.

Which made it all the clearer what I was trying to distract myself _from_.

Scorpius. It'd been four days since I'd seen the blond-haired, blue-haired boy, though I'd thought about him often enough to make up for it. I was dizzy with how little of a grasp I had on him. I'd thought we were allies and more-than-friends and _on-the-cusp_. He had thought I was a would-be-fuck-buddy that wouldn't put out; at least, that was the worst-case scenario. The best case was that I was just an ally. Just a girl he put _in _bed instead of took _to _bed. And that sucked hard, too.

The misery that had nearly taken me down in Scorpius's own apartment hadn't gone away yet—I was just sprinting ahead of it on a combustion engine of manic energy and to-do lists. I was losing the battle, too. It was gaining. Fast.

Which was part of the reason I'd gotten into the office so early; I had to hide in public. I had to go places I wouldn't be able to cry, see people who didn't know Scorpius, talk about things that couldn't relate back to him.

Looking around, though, the office was near-empty. I'd at least located the sign floating a few feet above the cluster of desks I was at; it said Response Team Gamma, which was supposed to be my team. I struggled to remember what the packet Bill had sent me said. I'd barely looked over that kind of information, instead forcing Hugo to review with me the basic layout of the Ministry so I wouldn't get lost. I'd figured someone could review the details with me at the office as long as I could get through all the logistics—like actually being able to find the office.

Nervousness ate at my composure as I looked down at my legs, which were crossed professionally in front of me, the comfortable black heels I'd slipped on with dark jeans and a demure light blue blouse the most easy-going outfit I'd worn out of the house in weeks. No sequins, no layers of bracelets. I had eyeliner on, but no eye shadow—mascara, but no lip liner. I looked like a grown-up. Something that probably would have had more meaning if didn't use words like "grown-up" instead of "adult."

I grimaced; whatever the terminology, I had to keep on keeping on. I was starting over, resetting, and I didn't need clubbing or the boys. I didn't need Scorpius. I was taking this job seriously, behaving professionally.

But I couldn't get Scorpius—and Celia, how I hated her—out of my head.

The absurd thing was, I really did hate Celia. There was no excuse for that; a week ago, I would have called us friends, or close to it. She hadn't done anything wrong. I just wanted Scorpius, and now she had him.

This sounded familiar.

A flash of memory, just a two-second scene, swamped my reality: sitting in front of Longbottom my fifth year, sobbing as Albus confessed my crimes, and Molly told my parents and my aunts and uncles the truth, that I'd stolen her boyfriend because I'd been mad he'd liked her and not me.

I swallowed hard, reaching up to push my hair back distractedly as I blinked quickly, trying to recover from the memory. I wasn't in that room, I wasn't hearing my father's disappointed _Rosie_, I wasn't losing them again. I was here, and now, and I'd pulled myself free of the Scorpius situation. It had gotten out of control, but I knew better now.

Deep breaths.

It was getting harder and harder to soothe myself with that, though. Scorpius and Celia seemed to follow me. Their outing to his mom's gala had been in the society pages of the _Prophet_. I'd bought a copy and stared at the photo, indulging the monstrously unhealthy tendencies that had always crept around. Celia had looked beautiful and classy; her dress went to her knee, black and form-fitting with little cap sleeves. Scorpius was doing his usual slightly-strained smile, his tuxedo perfectly tailored, per usual. The caption had been brief but to the point; _Pure Blood, Pure Hearts; Scorpius Malfoy (in Brioni) and Celia Goyle (in Lanvin) at the Broadcombe Ball._

I had almost laughed at the caption, albeit humorlessly. It was a hellscape—this all was—but it was the caption that really killed me. Because it said it all, didn't it? Pure Blood. We'd fought a war to escape it, and it was still illegal to hire, or fire, or hate, or like someone for it. But the old families had memories far longer than the wizarding wars, so they didn't care. the Malfoy heir and the oldest Goyle girl were always going to end up together. Finally joining families for the first time in a century.

Moreover, Scorpius's father would finally stop chiding him. Stop from bothering him about me, about Théo, about his _strays_—hadn't that been what Mr. Malfoy had called us, that day he found us in the apartment?

I could see Celia and Scorpius's future now. They would marry young, maybe within the year. They'd have a child with a ridiculous name a safe eleven months after that—long enough to prove purity (in all its iterations) but short enough to ensure that someone would inherit the Malfoy fortune. Then they would sleep in separate beds in a villa that cost more than my grandparents' life savings for the rest of their lives. Scorpius would have a rotating score of mistresses. Celia would have affairs with low-level government employees. They'd die alone, having fulfilled their purpose. It made me sad.

_It could have been different for him, _a mean part of my brain said. _You could have made him different. And sure, his parents wouldn't have approved, and your parents wouldn't have approved, but he would have had you, and that might have been enough_. _It would have been like a fairy tale where the Prince saves the Princess but you'd save each other._

Footsteps startled me, and I looked up as a man stopped before me. I swallowed hard, struggling to smother the red stain on my cheeks before I looked up at him properly; the young man grinned at me. "You're Rose Weasley—" He said, cutting himself off as he tilted his head to the side. His brown hair was messy and fell to the side a little; his skin was a tawny color and he was probably a half-inch shorter than me, though the width of his shoulders helped fight against that. _He's an eight._ I though appreciatively, then grimaced. _Bad Rose._

"That I am." I smiled up at the man, my eyes crinkling a little at the corners. I stopped myself from leaning forward and pulling my shoulders back; this was my job, I had to be charming, not flirty. No need to show him my chest.

Besides, I was fairly sure he'd found it already.

"Ben Harley." He said, smiling back down at me; looking at him properly, I realized he couldn't have been that much older than me. Maybe 25? Yikes. That was no good. Boys my age—and yes, they were still boys, not men, at least most of them were—were the source of my trouble. _Not all boys, _mean internal voice said. _Just one._

"Are you chief of this operation?" I asked, when he didn't offer any other information. As soon as I said it, I regretted it; I should have read that starter packet. My immediate boss's name would have been there. _Dumb, Rose. When will you learn to prioritize?_

"Well, Weasley is the boss." He corrected, then cracked a crooked smile; I felt myself smiling back before I really considered the implications, and stopped myself once I did. I wasn't going to flirt with this boy. Besides, I was only smiling back because he—and that little smile—reminded me of Scorpius. Ugh, I was such a mess. "Of course, you know would know that. Him being your uncle and all."

"You know he's my uncle?" I asked, trying to push just a little judgment into my tone, the way Molly did; I had to create a little distance from me and the rest of the world if this was going to work. Because I was keeping up a pace too unattainable for myself, much less for anyone else.

"Well, the Weasley family tree was on the History of Magic OWL." He pointed out, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Since Uncle Bill isn't our immediate boss, who is?" I pressed on, trying to continue on, laughing less. He had to know I was serious and to be taken seriously.

"Well, we have a team leader, who is not me, and then since you're here, I guess I'm technically Senior Field Envoy." His mouth twisted uncertainly. "Though I'm not sure about that, 'cause I started like two weeks ago."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows, interested. Ben was older than me by at least two or so years—had he just started out in the work force, five years late? "What were you doing before this?"

"I'm a transfer from the Auror Department." He admitted. I kept up my smile even as my interest in him faded a little. Aurors were an odd bunch—something I could say with confidence because I had an ex-boyfriend, an ex-best friend, a father, and an uncle among their ranks. The auror department required the impossible of their employees—insane hours, not enough pay, little sleep, little recognition due to the confidential nature of most of their missions. But it was part of this that made them a crew. The aurors were the tightest knit of the Ministry departments, but they also had little time for anyone outside of their line of work.

"You know Liam and Molly, then?" I asked after a beat, trying to think of something to say; Liam Fitzroy had been my year at Hogwarts, and Albus's roommate. We'd dated for five seconds my fourth year, and he'd been in love with me for the next two years, though I was pretty sure he'd moved on by graduation. Scorpius had taken particular joy in mocking him about his undying—and unrequited—affection. _And we're back._

All roads led to Scorpius.

Ben spoke again, and I blinked, hard; _focus, Rose_. "They're great." Ben agreed, then a glint shone his eyes. "Even if Molly's a touch terrifying." I chuckled, then arched my back in an effort to stretch out a kink that had come in overnight. Ben watched me move, then turned away, smirking to himself. Self-revulsion flooded me as I turned my burning face away. _Shame on you, Rose. You know better._

Awkward silence fell; my stomach churned. I needed someone to throw me a bone, here, or something. Ben wasn't saying anything, though, and now he was going through papers on his desk totally nonchalantly; I couldn't let him just end this conversation there, though. I wasn't going out on that note. Also, fuck him for getting us here. "So." The word was physically hard for me to say, getting caught in my throat but I persevered. "What made you transfer?" I asked after a beat, forcing my voice to stick there.

"Layoffs." Ben's whole demeanor changed, his shoulders dropping and his arms hanging helplessly at his sides. _Who's in control now? _"My whole team was let go. Mr. Weasley—I guess, your dad—offered me a position here, if I transferred."

I stared at Ben for a moment. What if that happened to me?

"Ah, yeah—" Ben finally turned back to me, forcing a smile. "I've got a new team, now, so it's fine." His voice was too bright, but I let it slide, smiling back at him. "So, under Weasley are the team leaders—Taliesin Dwyd is ours, and we're on Gamma Team."

"Taliesin Dwyd?" I repeated back at him, but I was willing to help him put on this little show of not caring. "That's quite a name." I raised my eyebrows.

"He's Welsh or something." Ben shrugged carelessly, and I reached up, pulling my hair up into a ponytail; his eyes tugged to my chest, and I bit the inside of my cheek. I couldn't tell if this recurring theme was Ben's fault or mine. "And…" Ben dragged out the word, his concentration faltering as his gaze remained on my chest; finally, out of discomfort more than anything else, I turned away, back to where I'd dropped my bag beside the chair. I crouched down, pretending to look for something, and Ben fell silent for a beat. "He's really…" Ben continued after a moment, but this time he drifted off again.

I'd found my lip gloss four times and then pretended to lose it again before he finally spoke again. "Anxious." Ben said definitively, and I twisted to look back at him, surprised at that choice in words. "He's really scatterbrained, too. All the time. About everything." He grinned. "You'll see." He paused. "So, what kind of skills do you have, Weasley?"

I swallowed; Scorpius called me Weasley. "All I've ever done is dabble in cryptography." I said quietly as I watched people cluster under the different signs; _Alpha, Beta, _and _Delta_ were all inscribed on signs that bobbed lightly over groups of desks. The Alpha sign was sparkly and flipped over excitedly as two women broke off from the coffee table to stand by their desk cluster. I couldn't help but notice that our Gamma sign seemed to be from the last millenium, and only swayed weakly from side to side as if it might collapse. "I'm not sure I'm going to help too much."

Ben snorted. "Of course you will." He said easily. "You're Rose Weasley." I glanced back to him, smiling a little uncomfortably. The Weasley name had too much weight to it. Especially when I was the one who was supposed to be pulling that weight.

"Uh. Who are you?" The voice was lightly accented but it wasn't overwhelming; I pulled my gaze from Ben to twist around. A man of a little less than thirty was standing behind me; he was skinny, his hips clocking in at narrower than mine and his legs like toothpicks.

I found myself at a loss for words as I blanked on how to speak English. Ben snickered beside me after ten seconds passed, and I finally blinked, coming back to life. "Uh—Rose Weasley." I said; the words felt a little odd in my mouth. I realized, after a beat, why that was: I hadn't had to introduce myself to someone in months. Maybe years.

Yikes, I was getting a big head.

"Oh." Taliesin paused, studying me for a beat. Then he looked at Ben. "Why is she here?" He didn't sound unfriendly, but the fact that he was talking about me _around _me made me uncomfortable.

"She's the new girl, Tal." Ben offered dutifully; Tal stared at me wordlessly. Ben sounded fatigued as he continued. "I told you about her. We knew we were getting a new person today."

"We did?" Taliesin asked doubtfully, his voice soft.

"I told you we were getting a new girl." Ben admitted after a beat. My team leader looked down at me blankly for silent moments that stretched together before recognition lit up his face.

"Ah. New girl. Yes." He nodded sagely. "Alright. Sorry, Rose. Welcome." He paused, and I could almost watch his mind repeat our last discussion. "Wait," He said after a beat, his voice still fairy-like, "did you say your last name was Weasley?"

"I did." I agreed with a smile. "Nice to meet you."

He scrutinized me for a moment. "Nice to meet you too." He offered distractedly, reaching up to rub a hand over his hair. "Weasley like Weasley?"

"She's Ron Weasley's daughter, Tal." Ben said under his breath.

"Ah." Tal nodded. "Good man, your father. Got him out of a Gringotts vault last year." I laughed, but Tal's face remained expressionless, and my own natural smile faded awkwardly as silence reigned. I shot Ben an uncertain look; he just shook his head once at me, and I swallowed audibly, looking back to Tal, my eyes a little wide.

Tal just met my gaze totally levelly.

I couldn't tell whether he was being kind of a dick, or if he was just one of those people who never quite got involved in a conversation. "Tal," Ben finally prompted, "introduce yourself."

Tal nodded once, then heaved a put-upon sigh. "I'm your team leader. Taliesin. You can call me Tal." He looked at Ben blankly. "What did I do your first day?" He asked interestedly. Ben raised his eyebrows good-naturedly, giving Tal a moment. "I'm supposed to—oh, yes—" He looked back down at me. "Welcome to Gamma. You'll be great. You need to register for your Ministry ID at the identification office on the first floor."

I reached in my back pocket, then pulled out the ID I'd gotten earlier that morning; I beamed out from the card. Tal lifted his wand, tapping it against the card; it shimmered red for a moment before going back to normal. Tal nodded. "Delightful." He made to turn away, and Ben made a noise of protest.

"_What she needs to know_." He stage-whispered to his boss; Tal looked at him absently for a moment then slowly turned back to me, meeting my gaze. I was disconcerted by his gaze; his eyes were almost empty, they were so absent. It gave me the creeps.

"Um…You don't need to know too much coming into this job." He admitted. Ben ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard; I snickered, some of the nervousness in my stomach easing off. "I suppose that people will get short with you; we're seeing them when their kids are locked in bathrooms and the such so they're grumpy, don't assume they're usually the worst." He paused. "If anyone gets violent, call the auror department." He tilted his head to the side, and I frowned.

"Does that happen a lot?" I asked after a beat, glancing to Ben; he shook his head reassuringly.

Tal didn't address the question, continuing. "If you need a day off, tell me at least a week in advance. Um. You have an hour for lunch. Don't eat the cakes that Ravi brings in." He looked back up at Ben, expecting another cue. He gave Tal a big thumbs up; Tal smiled faintly. "Cheers for me, then." Tal reached for a bright blue folder on the desk. "Let me go find Bill and ask if he wants us to do something…" Tal turned and wandered—that is the best word for what he did, because he walked very slowly, and with no seeming direction—away, and I watched him go before I turned to Ben, raising my eyebrows. Ben pressed his lips together, looking like he was resisting the urge to laugh, and I stared at him.

"_Oh boy,_ he is weird." I muttered, opening my eyes really wide for a moment. Ben snickered, nodding once.

"Yeah, Tal is just a genuine weirdo. But he's a good guy." Ben promised, but he couldn't help the grin that split his face. "Anyway." He glanced back down at the desk for a moment before he looked back up at me. "Any questions?" His voice was choked with restrained laughter.

"Just one." I grinned. "Who's Ravi?"

Ben shrugged, his mouth tugging up at the corner. "No idea."

* * *

><p>"We have a call…" Tal said lackadaisically, some time later; I glanced up from where I'd all but collapsed in the chair at the desk, my neck protesting as I straightened up. Tal had disappeared when he went to find Bill, so Ben had laid his head down on his desk and gone to sleep. Not to be out done, I'd passed out not ten minutes after.<p>

Finally, now, Tal was back, purple folder in hand.

I blinked blearily at him, and Ben lifted his head to stare at our boss. I shifted my gaze from Tal, to Ben, who just met my gaze sleepily. "How long?" He mouthed after a beat. I shrugged, and Ben wrinkled his nose at me before he sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Yay, we get to break in the new girl." Ben finally spoke, and Tal nodded distractedly, looking down at his folder. I drew in a breath.

"Where is it?" I asked after a beat, swinging my head back up to Tal hopefully; maybe, if I was nice to Ben, he would be cooler than he was being. Because right now he was being sort of an asshole and a little sexual harassment-y. Tal stopped where the two desks met, looking down at the purple folder pensively for a moment, then raised his eyebrows, looking back to me. His eyes were so light that it made me uncomfortable; he looked like he might have been blind, but Ben had already confirmed he wasn't. Eep.

"Good question." He murmured, opening the folder; he looked down at it's contents for a moment before Ben reached up, snagged the folder from the man, and flipped it around before sliding it back into Tal's hands. Tal nodded once. "Watford, in Hertfordshire. Old lady is stuck in her basement. Lost the key, I suppose?"

"Lovely." Ben muttered irritably, pushing himself up. "Let's show Weasley how it's done, Tal." He grabbed a lanyard from around the lamp that stood at the corner of his desk, and it briefly tangled with the shade and he made a frustrated noise before he managed to get it off. He slid it over his head, and when I grinned at him, raising my eyebrows, he shot me a dark look. "Don't." He warned.

"Whatever you say." I murmured, standing up gracefully and grabbing my lanyard from the top desk drawer of my desk; I pulled my ID out of my back pocket and slid it between the layers of plastic.

"You're licensed for apparation, right?" Ben checked as I looped my lanyard over my head. I glanced up at him, my lips parting slightly, even as he opened his top desk drawer and grabbed a small scope and some lock picks, dropping them on the desk. I glanced, looking for help, to Tal, but he was still staring down at the folder.

Ugh, looked like I was in this one alone. "I _am_ licensed but I can't apparate for another two weeks." I admitted after a beat. Ben and Tal both stopped what they were doing to look up at me, Ben's eyebrows drawing together. I looked down awkwardly, tapping my fingers against the desk.

"Why can't you apparate?" Ben asked after a beat, and I pulled a face.

"I got splinched two weeks ago." I said the words carefully. "I'm not allowed to apparate for another two." Ben's eyebrows shot up.

"Yikes." Ben said after a beat. "That's four weeks suspended. Must have been bad." I nodded once. He stared at me, and I smiled uncertainly, before looking back down at my desk. I genuinely didn't know how to have this conversation. "What happened?"

"Lost a rib and a lot of blood." I murmured. Ben whistled.

"Jeez, Weasley, don't do anything half-way, do you?" He asked, and I swallowed. I was sure there was some bad interpretation of what he'd said, but I couldn't summon the energy to comprehend it. "Though it does make sense." Ben continued, his face lighting up with understanding, now. "That's why you're here. You can't model with the scar." Self-satisfaction spread across his face. I nodded once, and he continued. "I was gonna say. This doesn't quite measure up to photo-shoots and clubs with Scorpius Malfoy."

And there was his name. I stared at Ben. "What's that supposed to mean?" The words left my lips before I could help it. I hated this—I hated that Scorpius's very name set me on edge. Dammit, I missed that kid.

"Oh, you know what it means, Rose." Ben's mouth twisted into a mean sneer; the defensiveness that had risen just a beat before crumbled again. "The bigger question is how you kept all of this out of Witch Weekly." I swallowed. As much as I resented Ben in this moment, he was right. I was playing with fire, here. I couldn't keep this out of the tabloids, I couldn't hold onto this persona I was hiding behind for too long. At heart, I belonged with Scorpius and Théo in those clubs, and I knew that better than anyone else.

What was I doing here? I wasn't fooling Ben, hadn't managed to keep up this ruse for even two hours. I was just embarrassing myself.

"There is a pub in Watford that has made the floo public." Tal's voice, lackadaisical as ever, sliced evenly through our tension, and I pulled my gaze from Ben to look to Tal. He looked up at me, his too-light eyes blank; I couldn't tell if he had meant to give me out, or if he had just genuinely lost track of Ben's and my separate conversation. "We can go through there." He continued. I nodded after a moment, then looked back down at my desk, grateful for Ben's silence.

I just had to make it through the day.

* * *

><p>"So." Tal said wearily, two hours later; he swiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. "Just one more lift should be good." I stared at him across the cellar door we'd been wrestling with for the last hundred minutes. This had not been in the job description.<p>

The cellar door seemed to be the only way into the basement—aside from through the house, which we couldn't do, because of the runes on her basement door. Everyone had runes on the basement doors—charms to keep gnomes out, to keep the basement dry in storms, to keep out robbers. Except everyone and their brother had strengthened basement door runes during the Wizarding Wars, which meant that any house over twenty-five-years old had enough runes inscribed on door to keep out a small army. Not that that had stopped Death Eaters, but it'd been a valiant effort.

Runes on cellar doors were no lax business, either, but hers hadn't been redone seemingly _since_ the wizarding wars, given how faded they were. So we were hoping that a little elbow grease could wrench the damned door off its hinges.

"My arms are going to fall off my body." Ben muttered exhaustedly; I lifted my gaze to look at him resentfully. My frown immediately deepened, though; he'd long since sweat through his shirt, and had removed it in favor of shirtlessness. Which, frankly, I wasn't averse to; he didn't have a six-pack (like Scorpius did), but he was fairly good-looking (but not as good as Scorpius). _Quit it, Rose_. Not everything could lead me back to Scorpius. I'd never make it.

"Seconded." I could barely make the word coherent even as I dropped my chin to my chest. I lifted a hand to rub against my forehead, my numb fingers scraping uncomfortably along the skin there. I had such a headache. I turned away from the cellar door just enough to sit down on it heavily, then ducked my head down against my knees, squeezing my eyes shut.

I hated this job. I hated Ben, I was fairly sure that Tal hated me. Why had I agreed to this again? I'd had such a sweet set up with modeling and clothes and perfume. _Because no one would have me with the giant scar. _I reminded myself cruelly. This wasn't a choice I'd made; no one else wanted me. I swallowed.

"We have to figure out what the fuck to do about Runes." Ben mumbled behind me, startling me out my depressed spiral. I up but not towards him, and I didn't say anything: I was fairly sure he'd directed that at Tal. He hadn't yet said anything remotely work-related to me since we'd left the office. "This happened with those idiots in Blackwater, too."

"As I recall," Tal began breezily, "we noted this problem in Blackwater." I couldn't tell if Tal meant to bug Ben here, or if Tal didn't really understand social interaction. "Didn't you say you were going to learn something from—"

"Well they're hard!" Ben snapped defensively; I glanced up at him. His bad mood wasn't just with me, then. Interesting.

I sighed, standing up and brushing off my butt as I turned to face the boys. "Okay, can we please finish this? I would like to shower." I urged my teammates, reaching down to grab the edge of the cellar door; we'd long since removed most of the metal around it, so we could get a better hold on it.

"Three." Tal said as he settled himself on his side; Ben followed suit. "Two." I tightened my grip. "One. _Lift_." We all three heaved upwards and there was a popping noise; it released and suddenly we all staggered as the door's actual weight—much, much lighter than the magical weight we'd been battling—was all that was on us, and I lost my footing, tripping backwards into the grass. Ben made a noise of protest as suddenly it was only him and Tal holding up the door, and they lost their handle on it; the door sagged towards me and I threw my arm over my head.

"_Mobiliportus!" _I said the words so fast that they were barely intelligible, and the door shot up to hover above our heads, ten feet off the ground. I stared up at it, my breath fast in my chest.

"Woah." Tal was the first to speak. "Latin." I moved my wide eyes from the door to my boss, and he looked down at me, with his too-light eyes. "I've never heard anyone modify the _corpus_ bit of _Mobilicorpus_."

"I—" I cut myself off. "I haven't either." I admitted after a beat, even as I pushed myself up to a seated position. My hands stung as I did, and I looked down at them; I'd scraped them up. I winced, rubbing them on my pants to get the little beads of blood off of them.

"Then what made you think to?" Tal asked; he actually sounded focused on what was going on, now. I shrugged, not making eye contact as I re-inspected my hands, then blew lightly on them, pursing my lips. "Good job." He murmured, turning away towards the now-open cellar. He walked to the edge, peering down into the darkness. "Hello, Madame." I heard the vague sounds of a response, but Ben was already coming over, his mouth drawn tightly. My stomach tightened; he was definitely coming over to yell at me.

"Weasley?" Ben asked, his voice odd. I nodded. His face was turning red—he was going to kill me. I wasn't even sure what I'd done wrong. Frustration welled in me. I was done. Ben sucked, Tal sucked, this job sucked. I was out.

And then Ben started giggling.

That was the only word to describe it—giggling, like a schoolgirl, this weird little noise, his tight lips stretching and giving way to a big grin. He rubbed one side of his face, speechless with laughter even as he pushed some hair out of his face.

I stared back at him. "Are you _laughing at me_?" I demanded, embarrassment coloring my cheeks and making my throat swell painfully.

"Yeah, 'cause I can't figure out your deal." Ben shook his head, looking skyward for a moment, then back down at me. I stared at him for another moment, not comprehending what he could possibly mean.

He didn't elaborate, though, so I had to keep talking, fill the silence, say _something._ "This is a ridiculous job, you know that?" I said irritably, pushing myself to a crouch and then standing up properly. "I should have just gotten a desk assignment like a real person." I brushed my hands off on my pants before I reached up to clean off my hair; my fingers caught on a stick and a leaf, and I made a grumpy noise.

"Yeah, you probably should have." Ben agreed. I felt my face flush as I stared at him, my eyes stinging. He didn't look away from me, his ridiculous grin fading.

"I don't get you either." I grumbled after a beat. I bent down, using stretching as an excuse to not look at him any more; nothing felt broken, so I bent one leg at the knee, grabbing my ankle and pulling it up behind me to stretch out my quad. The muscle protested, but I kept it up for another ten seconds before I switched legs. Ben was watching me critically, his eyes a little narrowed.

I looked away, feeling my cheeks burn. I was always getting photographed, seen, observed. I didn't usually have to witness it, though. Rarely was I scrutinized, in person, like this. It was freaking me out. I only knew one way out of this, and it was not the virtuous path, but I was done. Ben didn't deserve the virtuous path. _And I wasn't capable of staying on it._

"Having trouble keeping your eyes to yourself?" I murmured after a beat. He raised his eyebrows in a _whatever-you-want_ way, and I tilted my head to the side. "You should know that I intend to keep work and personal life separate."

"Sure you do." Ben murmured. I pursed my lips.

"Don't believe me?" I challenged; panic flared in my chest, but I wrestled it into a box. Ben shrugged, turning away from me a little so the sunlight spilling over the tiny house landed on his face, throwing it into sharp relief. His brow ridge was a little too strong and his jaw too pronounced, but he was fairly good-looking.

"You're Rose Weasley." Ben murmured. "I don't know what to believe."

I stared at him for a beat, my whole face on fire. I wasn't sure what that meant—there were too many meanings that I didn't want to consider—but he turned away before I could even try. He crossed back to Tal, and I watched him go, feeling the panic that I'd tried to suppress just a moment ago slide out of my control.

I was so fucked with this job.

* * *

><p>"Uh." Hugo sounded a little alarmed. "How was work?"<p>

I stared up at Hugo from where I was sitting on his pull-out couch bed, a vodka bottle steadied between my knees. My hand was around its neck, and I'd already had a few swigs; Hugo looked at it uncomfortably, his mouth pulling into a downward frown. I had tiptoed the line between sobriety and alcoholism before; I was now sliding clumsily over it, if he was coming home an hour after me and I was much closer to drunk then tipsy.

"Terrible. It was terrible." I said the words too fast; they tripped over one another. "I am not Mum's daughter. I'm too dumb, Hugh—something happened, switched babies at the hospital or something. You're smart and Mum's smart and Dad's at least—he makes it work, y'know?" I blinked up at Hugo. "I can't ever seem to make it work." I shook my head. "I can't make it work. Ben thinks I'm dumb and Bill gave me this job because I'm his niece, not because he thinks I have any actual value because _I don't, _and everyone knows it, and I tried to be good and then I realized I just don't _have any value and_—" I heaved a breath, staring at Hugo. He was staring down at me, looking mostly confused.

"Rose." He said after a beat. "It was one day."

I swiped at my mouth, my eyes burning and spilling over. "I'm _bollocks _at this." I mumbled, looking down at the bottle. "And I miss Scorpius and Théo and Celia, and they were my crew, and now I'm crew-less." I swallowed. "I miss Scorpius and now he's dating Celia." I finished softly.

"Then he's the worst." Hugo muttered. "Celia isn't any fun or particularly nice—"

"But his parents approve of her." I lifted my face to look at Hugo.

"Draco Malfoy is not a man you want approving of you. If he approves, you're doing something wrong." Hugo's voice was careful, and he stepped forward, stopping in front of me. "But this isn't really about him, it's about your job. You had a rough first day because first days suck, Rosie. Don't let this spiral into a Malfoy thing." He grabbed the vodka bottle with little effort; my reflexes were so far shot at this point that my hand closed on empty air as Hugo turned to cross to the kitchenette, putting down the bottle on the counter there. "Did this have a top?" He wondered aloud, glancing around.

"What if I get fired from this job?" I asked, my voice shaking.

Hugo turned and met my gaze levelly, a hardness there that I rarely saw. "I know you're capable of this, Rosie. It's entry-level." He didn't sound like little Hugh anymore. "If you get fired, it's going to be because you got in your own way."

I gaped at my little brother. That was the hardest he'd ever been with me; he never pushed me on things, never held me accountable. It was what made him a fucking awesome roommate. And, it was occurring to me now, maybe made me the worst big sister ever.

Guilt flooded me, the alcohol in my system making my always-shaky grasp on my emotions melt away altogether. Poor Hugo. I was such a mess and now he was part of it, here, witnessing my undoing. And he was right; it was entirely my fault. I got in my own way. I fell for boys who I knew I couldn't have, got jobs and got too scared of them.

Or, well, I wasn't scared of jobs. I wasn't even scared, per se, just paralyzed. I was paralyzed by indecision everywhere I turned, people kept expecting things of me. And I knew, better than anyone, that I was not capable of those things. I wasn't capable of anything.

But if anyone actually knew that, even Hugo would want nothing to do with me.

The thought made me physically nauseous. Hugo was my little brother; I didn't remember life before his little nerdy self, toddling after me as I went on adventures and he fell down (down stairs, down hills, down slides) trying to keep up. At some point, though, he'd stopped following—the same point that I'd split from Albus, from Molly, from Fred.

But my little brother had grown up into the brilliant, if quirky, adult that everyone had known he would. He hadn't fallen down forever, though. And I hadn't ever faltered before I was fifteen but since then, I'd been collapsing with every step I took.

How had we turned out so different? We had the same parents who loved us. An extended family that babysat us, played with us, pushed us on the swings. Lord knows I'd had friends, though they'd gone away, fifth year, when this had all started.

That wasn't really when it had started, though. I could see the symptoms of what had occurred, and I knew when those had begun—when I'd fucked Molly over. But that hadn't been the cause. That had been the consequences.

"Ro—" Hugo's voice was already thick with something that sounded horribly like pity. "Shoot. I didn't mean that."

I scrambled to think of something that someone competent would say. Who was I kidding, really, though? No one competent would be in this situation. _C'mon, Rose. You lost it fifth year and have been spiraling ever since. _The voice in my head was always so dark. _Hugo deserves better. _ That was hardly news.

"I…" I struggled against the pit of despair that had torn open my chest, making my head feel heavy. Or maybe that was just the vodka? "I have to go." I lifted my gaze to him, he just blinked at me, confused. "See you later, Hugh." I pushed myself up from his bed, ignoring my brain as the room spun dizzily around me. I grabbed my purse from where I'd dropped it on the counter when I came in.

Hugo didn't say anything when I reached the door, didn't move when I opened it. The silence almost killed me but I kept walking until the door was closed behind me and I had ceded my own apartment to my little brother. And then I kept walking—down the steps, out of my building, down the street, like a girl with a mission. I didn't even realize where I was going, didn't realize I was following the familiar steps I'd walked so many times before. And then I was going up the steps of his building, slamming open his building's door, slipping into the open elevator. I leaned against the elevator wall as I pressed the button clumsily once, then too-hard once more, and turned my face to look at myself in the elevator mirror.

My eyes were as red as my hair, my eyeliner smudged just a little under my eyes. My face was blotchy, my blue eyes bright with intoxication. I swallowed, reaching up to brush my hair out of my eyes, but before I could do much with the mess that was my face, the doors opened behind me; I turned, stumbling a step, but it kept moving forward. I turned down the hallway and, at his door, I pulled my wand out and tapped twice, then exhaled tiredly.

"_Ihr trugt die Schande nicht." _I slurred the German words but the charm forgave me, the door clicking and then swinging open with a long, slow squeaking noise from the metal.

My eyes immediately zeroed in on the blond boy sitting on the couch; he was wearing a button-up shirt and primly-ironed suit pants. He had a scotch glass in his hand and it was almost empty; I could tell from his slow response that this had not been his first glass.

"Rose?" He asked after a beat; he put down his glass a little too hard, and the scotch almost spilled. I stared at him; this was what I wanted, I realized suddenly, with crushing clarity. I didn't care about Celia or Hugo or Ben—this was all about Scorpius. I was all about Scorpius. "Is everything—" He began as he pushed himself up.

I shook my head, and he fell silent, never breaking eye contact. I pushed forward from the doorway dizzily, crossing to him and, without missing a beat, pressed my lips to his as I pressed my hands to his chest. I slipped my arms up and around his neck as his palms curved around my hips and pulled me flush against him. My teeth grazed his lower lip as his hands slid over my ass and under my thighs, and he lifted me enough to sit me on the back of the couch. My whole body was humming—finally, finally, finally, Scorpius and I were happening, everything I'd waited for and wanted and _this was happening._

I should have realized that would be the first nail in my own coffin.


End file.
